


It's Who You Know

by capn_hoozits



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bigotry & Prejudice, F/M, Ishbal | Ishval, Original Character(s), Sexual Predators, dead canon characters, dealing with death, gave Scar a name, oh for pete's sake everybody I can squeeze in, parent/child relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 94,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1741514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capn_hoozits/pseuds/capn_hoozits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scar tries to rebuild his life while haunted by his past. Kimblee could care less about his past, but it comes back to haunt him anyway.</p><p>
  <i>"But…" One thing that Solf Sr. had drilled into his son from an early age was to never ever do something for nothing, and anyone who offered to do something for you for nothing was just itching to screw you over. "What do you get out of it?""</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Neshed chuckled quietly. Mrs. Neshed sighed. "It is a grace," she explained, which meant little to nothing to Solf. The woman pressed her crossed hands over her bosom. "It is a gift, given freely from the heart."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Solf's eyes narrowed just a little. "You mean, it's a religious thing?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Mrs. Neshed smiled at him like he was just a little stupid. "Yes, my dear. It's a religious thing."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work stands alone from my Sons of the Desert series, but it does contain some similarities, like the Ishvalan culture and language that I developed. I have an Ishvalan dictionary posted on my Tumblr account [here](http://sons-of-the-desert-fma.tumblr.com/post/64660673693/my-ishvalan-dictionary) but I'll just put translations at the end notes when needed. I will be "recycling" a few of my OC's from that series as well, and if you've read that series you will recognize them. I also will be using the same names I gave to those canon characters (like Scar) who did not have names. This being an AU, the canon characters may seem out of character, just to warn you. 
> 
> There will be no alchemy or automail (the characters are well-rounded enough without it) and the history and political situation will be somewhat different. I will also be tweaking names and family relationships a bit.

"So, what's the new guy like?"

Olivier Armstrong lifted an eyebrow at her colleague and fellow assistant principal Solf Kimblee, who was something of a new guy himself. He'd only been here for a year. She had been with the school district for most of her professional life, practically straight from her masters program. Solf's credentials were less impressive, but his father swung a certain amount of influence. Her own father was rich and influential, but she never took advantage of that. Some people got where they were by hard work and dedication.

"He's not the new guy yet," she said. "He's in with Principal Bradley right now."

"Ah." Kimblee smirked a little. "King's giving him the evil eye test, huh?"

Olivier's lips twitched in a small frown. For someone who had been here for a relatively short time, Mr. Kimblee was far too familiar with his superiors. She didn't care if Principal Bradley and Mr. Kimblee Senior were golf/drinking buddies. When you were on the job, you were on the job.

Still, what he said was probably true. She had seen more than one teacher, not to mention many a student, quail under the principal's scrutiny.

"Well, I expect Mr. Ruhad will pass muster," Olivier remarked.

There was a spark of genuine surprise in Kimblee's expression. "He's Ishvalan, huh?"

"And he's highly qualified," Olivier added stiffly. "He was a teacher for a number of years in Ishval. I understand that his brother teaches at the university."

"Uh-huh." Like he cared, apparently. "Seriously, though. What's he like?"

Olivier thought she was being nothing but serious. And she was not about to satisfy what she felt was Kimblee's unseemly curiosity. She was not one to stand around the office hallways and gossip, not even with people she liked.

"He'll be a fine addition to our school," was all she said before heading back to her office.

She sat down at her desk and contemplated the empty chair that had, just about twenty minutes ago, been occupied by a potential candidate for the teaching staff.

 

* * *

_"So, why math?" She liked to ask teachers what drew them to a particular subject. To some, it was simply what they were good at, for others, it was a passion._

_The Ishvalan gentleman replied readily. "It's certain. It's black and white. One and one equals two, and that's it." His expression, intent enough to start with, darkened just a little. "There is no controversy. There is no time wasted on differing opinions or interpretations."_

_"I see." She had passed by classrooms where history or literature were being taught and would sometimes catch a bit of debate, which could be disruptive. She knew that teaching methods in Ishvalan schools were a bit stricter than here, and students were better disciplined. So what made this man leave that environment for an Amestrian school?_

_There was something about him that Olivier couldn't quite place. He seemed to emanate something. It might have been a kind of discomfort. It might just have been the fact that he was obviously not used to wearing a suit and tie, but that wasn't it. He wasn't nervous. He didn't shift around in his seat. He sat quite still, as a matter of fact, almost like he was holding himself in._

_She was trying to decide how she felt about that scar on his face, too. According to his background check, he had been injured nearly two years ago in an explosion set off by the IPA, the Ishvalan People's Advocacy, a nice name for a small but problematic separatist movement that reared its head every now and then. A number of people had died in that tragedy, and the ring leaders had been arrested. It seemed as though Mr. Ruhad had been in the wrong place at the wrong time._

_She particularly wondered how the students might react to the scar. Some of them could be such little turds._

_She moved on with the interview. "Tell me about this twelve-month period of unemployment." She frowned a little at the resume in front of her. "If you don't mind me asking, what is a_ surgun _?"_

_He stirred, just the tiniest bit. Did she hit a nerve? "It is a period of…exile," he explained. "A sort of purification process."_

_"Is this a common practice in Ishval?" Olivier asked._

_"No. It's very old, though," he explained, which was an interesting bit of information but neither here nor there._

_Olivier nodded. "Did it have to do with your recovery from your injury?"_

_He hesitated for a moment. "Indirectly," he said, then added, "It was a personal decision."_

_That really didn't answer her question, but she got the impression that it was a religious thing, and that wasn't something she was supposed to discuss. If it was personal, it was personal, and that was all there was to it._

* * *

 

Principal Bradley asked him roughly the same questions that Assistant Principal Armstrong did, so he was somewhat better prepared. Armstrong had maintained a businesslike detachment throughout the interview, something he approved of. Bradley came across as a benign patriarch, cordial and smiling, up until the moment his face went grave and his eye turned cold with menace. It was a subtle change, but noticeable enough. His other eye was covered with a patch so the effect that two eyes would have manifested were concentrated into one.

Andakar had gazed into his own private hell, so if this display was meant to be disquieting, it fell short.

Bradley seemed impressed and a smile reappeared. "Well, Andakar." He consulted the file in front of him. "Based on the results of your background check…" His tone sounded almost noncommittal and Andakar nearly gave in to an expectation of defeat. "…and on the strength of your letters of recommendation…" Bradley raised his head and beamed. "Let me be the first to welcome you to the halls of Central East."

He extended his hand across the desk, and for an instant, Andakar wasn't sure how to interpret the gesture. He collected himself quickly and stood up to shake the principal's hand. "Thank you, sir!"

He did not show just how deeply relieved he was. He had failed at so much already. But as significant an obstacle as this was, he knew it paled beside what was to come.

 

* * *

This was not a good idea, but Mattas knew it wouldn't make any difference to say so. As he passed by the bathroom door, he found his brother still messing with his tie. Considering the fact that he was going to wear his _chuva_ over the whole thing kind of eclipsed the tie. He paused outside the door.

"If you just stuck with the polo shirt, you wouldn't have to worry about that," he remarked.

Andakar stubbornly pulled the end of the tie through the knot. "Tomorrow, perhaps. It's the first day. I need to establish myself."

If he was wound up any tighter, his mainspring would snap. Mattas tried not to roll his eyes. 

It was too soon. He should have waited. Mother thought so, too. When her younger son had returned from his _surgun_ , even after he'd shaved off his year-old beard and cut his hair, she still almost didn't recognize him. What he had faced out in the desert, all by himself, might not have been pleasant.

That was Andakar's problem. He always had a tendency to overdo things. It was either all or nothing.

Mattas lifted his phone and tapped the screen. The clock said 6:30. This was going to happen every day. He sighed.

Andakar glanced at him. "I said I would take the bus."

Mattas shook his head. "No, it's okay. Didn't I say it would be okay?"

Andakar stepped back from the mirror and scowled at his reflection, and judging by the angle of his eyes it wasn't his tie-tying skills he was considering. The scar that stretched across his forehead puckered slightly. Mattas' stomach sank just a little. The scar wasn't just a reminder of an injury. It was a symbol of how his kid brother's life had spun out of control. It also made the tie _and_ the _chuva_ kind of pointless because no one would be looking at them. Maybe it would mellow him out a little. Make him consider slacking off every now and then. Just sit down and surf the tv or the internet. Have some pizza, maybe a bag of chips and a couple of beers while he was at it. Tone the hell down.

Unlikely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you can run away from your past, sometimes it catches up with you. Sometimes people you barely cross paths with become part of your life, whether you want them to or not.
> 
> Starting off the first day of school with a cup of joe.

Mattas slowed the car and turned into a tiny corner parking lot. Andakar glanced at the clock display on the stereo. "Do we have time for this?"

"Relax." Mattas got out of the car. "It'll only be a couple of minutes. I'm not giving up my morning rituals for you."

Andakar opened his door with a sense of resignation. He had no right to object, really. Mattas had already done so much for him. He followed his brother into the coffee shop. Above the door was a dark-stained rectangle of plywood surrounded by a frame painted green. In a sweeping script were the words Le Sorelle—Coffee, Pastry, Sandwiches. The glass exterior was painted to look as though you were looking through a garden. It was probably a very inviting place.

A bell tinkled as Mattas pushed the door open and Andakar followed him in. There were other people lined up at the counter, and Andakar despaired of getting out of here in a timely manner. The other patrons glanced at the newcomers and a couple of them nodded to Mattas. He nodded back. It was all very casual and relaxed, which was all right for some.

A dark-haired woman behind the counter turned to them and smiled. Lucy was the woman that his brother had been seeing for the past few months. According to Mattas, her full name was Lucia, and her sister Rosa, or just Rose, had opened this coffee shop several years ago. Their parents had owned a restaurant in their native Aerugo before fleeing the political turmoil there. Andakar had met her only a few times since his arrival in Amestris a month ago. He had turned down invitations to join the two of them for dinner or some other outing.

Also behind the counter was a round, bald man with a soft, almost childlike voice with an accent. He gave Mattas a quick wave before setting a couple of steaming brown paper cups on the counter in front of a pair of customers.

The two worked quickly, and the line moved accordingly. It really was only a matter of a few minutes before they reached the counter. Lucy let out a long sigh and leaned her arms on top of the cash register. "Hello, sweetie," she said to Mattas. Her voice was pleasantly low.

Mattas leaned in to kiss her. "Hi!" He turned to the man behind the counter. "How's it going, Gleb?"

The round man bobbed his head. " _Khorosho_!" he replied in what Andakar recognized as Drachmani. "Is good! Can't complain, you know?"

Lucy turned her violet eyes to Andakar. She always seemed to be giving him some sort of subtle appraisal. "Well, hello, stranger. Nice of you to drop by!"

Mattas nodded, giving him an affectionately proud look that he didn't feel he deserved. "Yeah. Finally got him here."

Lucy shook her finger at him. "One of these days, you're coming over for lasagna, _capisce_?"

Andakar could only nod, not having any jovial reply at the ready. Inwardly he despaired.

"I thought Rose was going to be here," Mattas said, thankfully changing the subject. "She got back late last night, didn't she?"

Lucy gave a roll of her eyes. "Yeah, she's here. I mean she's at home. She isn't up to making new friends just yet."

Mattas had said something about Lucy's sister Rose having lost her fiancé three months ago to a terminal illness and she was devastated. It was sad, but Andakar was not in a state to process other people's grief or their family dramas. He did, however, sympathize with the need to withdraw from the world.

Mattas gave a slight nod. "Still hurting, huh?"

Gleb let out a sigh and pressed a hand to his chest. "Her heart," he said, his "h's" pronounced with a softly guttural sound, "is still broke."

"Yeah, well she's _gonna_ be broke if she can't pull herself together," Lucy responded. She looked at Mattas with weary exasperation. "Once he got her on the train, Papa called me and said she seemed to be doing better, but…" She lifted her hands in an expression of frustration. " _Non so che cosa fare!_ "

Gleb shook his head sadly and turned to wipe the steam spigots on the large copper espresso machine. " _Shto'zh podyelayesh_?"

"Well, if there's anything I can do, let me know," Mattas said. "Maybe I can talk to somebody in the Psych department or maybe the Health Center."

Lucy brightened a little, giving him an affectionate smile with a hint of seduction. "You're such a sweetheart!" She clapped her hands together. "So, the usual?" Mattas nodded and Lucy turned to Andakar. "How about you?"

Andakar shrugged. He didn't even want to be here. "Just coffee."

"Just plain old coffee?" Lucy's lip curled a little teasingly. "Not Ishvalan style?"

He looked at her blankly. He didn't know there was such a thing.

Mattas chuckled. "She means a red eye. That's what the other place calls them. Coffee with a shot of espresso."

Gleb was already preparing two portafilters with finely ground coffee. "Ready in a jif!" He held up two pudgy fingers. "Two jifs!"

Andakar glanced at the clock and Mattas caught him doing it. "You will not be late," he said firmly. "You've got plenty of time. We left really early."

There was no blame in him voice, but Andakar took it anyway. "Sorry," he mumbled. He looked back at Lucy. "Ishvalan style will be fine."

Mattas seemed pleased. "And they've got honey pastry, too." He pointed at the glass case below the counter that displayed a variety of breads and pastries. "Almost as good as Mother makes."

That actually caught Andakar's attention and he couldn't help a glance toward the pastry case. "Really?"

Gleb bobbed his head a couple of times. "I got good making _fyil_!"

That was impressive. A Drachman living in Amestris making Ishvalan pastry. Andakar had a flash of a memory of sitting near the kitchen table watching his mother painstakingly rolling dough until it was as thin as parchment. Back when life had a simplicity that was almost unimaginable now.

Mattas grinned. "We'll take four of those."

The two behind the counter burst into action. Lucy poured out two cups of coffee, tipping a beaker of espresso into each of them. Gleb wrapped up the honey pastry and slipped them into a paper bag. In a matter of seconds, their order was on the counter.

"Thanks!" Mattas handed Andakar one of the cups then handed Lucy some money. "And there's no need to rush Rose on our account, but I'd really like to finally meet her."

Lucy waved her hand. "I'll get started on that lasagna and have you guys over soon. Then she can't escape." She moved out from behind the counter and wrapped her arms around Mattas' neck. He had a coffee cup in one hand and a bag of pastry in the other, but he leaned down to kiss her. "I'll call you later," she promised.

"Sounds good."

They headed toward the door and Lucy called out, "Good luck, Andakar! Educate the hell outta those little shits!"

He glanced back and nodded at her interesting choice of words of encouragement. They got back in the car and Mattas handed him the bag of pastry. "So, what do you think?"

Andakar took a sip of his coffee. It was very good, relentlessly strong. But he wondered if he really needed that much caffeine right now. "About Lucy? She seems nice," he replied, telling Mattas what he wanted to hear and keeping it short.

Mattas nodded. He backed the car out, saying, "I really want you to come when she asks us over for dinner."

Andakar took another swallow of coffee so he didn't have to speak for a moment. He would rather not go. He knew his brother meant well, telling him he needed to "work on his socialization skills." He only barely felt human and a social life was the last thing he wanted right now. He needed to get up in the morning, go to work, teach mathematics, and go home. But not only was he obliged to respect his brother as the elder, he owed Mattas for taking him in and helping him find his job. He knew his parents loved him, but he had become…an embarrassment was the truest way to put it. They loved him but they couldn't get him on the train fast enough. Mattas had welcomed him without prying. But that was because he probably already knew everything.

"Yes, of course I'll come," he replied finally. "But don't expect me to be very good company." He didn't mean that out of spite. He knew what his limitations were.

Mattas just shrugged as he pulled out into traffic. "You don't have to be. But it'll be a start."

 

Maes Hughes stood leaning against the open door of his classroom as students filtered in. "Here we go! Another day in paradise!" he declared.

Other than a nod to acknowledge that cheerful piece of irony, Andakar had no reply. He was already speechless. He knew Amestrian schools were different. He thought he was prepared. But the shouting, the jostling, the slamming of locker doors in the hallways seemed closer to the cacaphony of the damned than paradise.

He stepped into his own classroom, across the hall from Hughes'. It was already nearly full, with a few more students entering. It was not as noisy in here as in the hallway, but it was still not what he was used to. What he was used to was sudden quiet and the sound of students rising from their seats in respect as he entered the room. He already knew that wasn't going to happen. If he could simply latch onto the basic familiarity of standing in front of a classroom of students, that should be enough.

He had mentally prepared himself for what came next but that didn't make it any easier to endure. A gradual hush fell over the room, punctuated by a few whispers. He glanced up to catch the majority of the students staring at him. Not at his _chuva_ or his painstakingly tied tie. Their gazes lifted a little higher than that, to his forehead. The moment his eyes swept the room, they all looked away, suddenly fascinated by their desks, their books, their pencils, each other. He had either awed or repulsed them. He told himself he didn't really care.

Actually, not all of them looked away. One young man sitting a couple of seats from the front still had his eyes fixed on the scar with a slight frown on his face. His look was almost distracted, as though he didn't even realize he was staring. Andakar focused on the young man's eyes, which were a curious shade of gold. His hair was long and tied back in a braid. Andakar was aware that the school dress code did not require that boys keep their hair short, as long as it was kept somehow restrained. He had noticed that another boy in the room was apparently testing the limits of the dress code by merely keeping his dreadlocks in place with a headband. Parents had apparently complained about the prohibition of "personal expression." Andakar was mystified, but there it was.

As soon as the golden-eyed young man realized that his stare was being reciprocated, he frowned a little and looked down as the spiral-bound notebook in front of him. He slipped a pen out from where it had been stored within the coil of the wire spiral and gave it a few clicks.

The bell rang, breaking the spell that seemed to have fallen over the room. The students shifted in their seats, having processed their surprise at his disfigurement and hopefully prepared to move on. Andakar looked across the faces before him.

"Good morning," he said.

He knew he wouldn't here a respectful murmured chorus of _good morning, Zhaarad_ from them. There were one or two subdued replies of _'morning_ , a few _hi's_ , a couple of _s'up's_ , and a _yo_.

He pulled his binder and the stack of syllabi from his satchel. Opening up the binder he went on. "My name is Andakar Ruhad. When I call your name, please raise your hand and say 'here.'"

He started through the alphabetical list of names. The first one had caught his interest immediately because the last name was Ishvalan. "Rik Arber."

"Here," a voice from the back of the class replied. The boy had been slouching in his seat with a ball cap on his head. He raised his hand and peeked up under the bill of his cap, revealing scarlet eyes and tawny brown skin. He might have been hiding his face to escape notice, and he was not wearing a _chuva_. There could have been several reasons why, but to a certain extent, Andakar supposed he could understand.

"Please remove your cap while inside the school building, Mr. Arber."

The boy smirked, more apologetically than impudently, to his credit. "Sorry," he murmured.

The next few names called elicited replies without incident. Then he called the name "Alphonse Elric."

"Here!" The reply was spoken in a clear tone and Andakar looked to locate its source. A young man a few seats away from the front sat up in his seat with his arm raised. He had an intelligent, open countenance and, curiously enough, the same golden eyes as the other boy, who happened to be sitting next to him. They were unmistakably brothers, or perhaps cousins.

"Edward Elric."

Sure enough, the boy with the braid raised his hand. "Here."

Beyond their coloring, the two boys seemed to have little in common, the foremost being that Alphonse looked like he wanted to be here. Edward did not. Not that he had any choice. This one was going to give him trouble, he could feel it.

Andakar continued down the list. Most of the students answered readily and with varying degrees of respect or enthusiasm.

"Paninya Robinson."

"I'm here!" A dark-complexioned girl wearing overalls shot her hand up with a bright smile. That, he supposed, was a good sign.

"Winry Rockbell."

There was no reply at first and Andakar looked up with a frown. Paninya hissed a hurried whisper at the girl sitting next to her, whose blonde head was bent over her notebook, in which she was hurriedly scribbling. Her head snapped up, her clear blue eyes widened, and her cheeks turned red. "Oh! Here! Sorry!"

He would not normally have allowed that sort of distraction in his class. If this was Ishval, he would have made her stand up and announce to the class what she had been doing. It tended to discourage that sort of behavior. But the girl seemed so sincerely contrite that Andakar found himself fighting the impulse to demand what had so arrested her attention. It was only roll-call, after all. He would certainly remember her.

After a few more names he called out "Nicolo Vorace."

The reply came as a groaning sound followed by a number of snickers. Andakar looked up with a frown and repeated with an edge to his voice. "Nicolo Vorace!"

"Here," came a sullen reply. The young man with the dreads lifted his hand limply. "And it's N.V."

Andakar considered him for a moment, mentally tagging him as _Problem Student Number One_. "Excuse me?"

Mr. Vorace rolled his eyes, which earned him a deeper scowl. "I go by N.V. You cool with that?"

If his impudence had not been tempered by a barely perceptible tone of deference, Andakar would have informed him in no uncertain terms just how not cool he was with that. It irked him just a little, but he let it go. He was not here to win anyone's affection, but neither did he wish to prompt too many complaints from Amestrian parents who couldn't teach their children manners. He needed to learn to compromise. He did not necessarily want to establish himself as a complete tyrant. Not yet at least.

He made a note next to Mr. Vorace's name. "Very well, Mr. N.V." This drew a few more brief snickers which Andakar chose to ignore. He moved on.

"Lan Fan Yao."

"Here!" A Xingese girl raised her hand. Andakar glanced at her, taking in a quietly earnest expression. She sat straight in her seat and her textbook was already open. _Another eager one, thank Ishvala_.

"Ling Yao."

"I'm always last!" a voice mourned cheerfully, causing most of the students to laugh. "Oh, yeah! Here!"

Sitting behind Alphonse Elric was a Xingese boy with a jovial demeanor to match his remark. Possibly related to Lan Fan, but it could just be coincidence. He was another one with his hair tied back. Andakar mentally categorized him as _Harmless But Distracting_. He would need monitoring.

That was the end of his class list. Andakar picked up the stack of syllabi and moved to the first desk in the first row. After a quick count, he handed that student a number of the stapled papers. "Pass those down, please."

He repeated the process until a sufficient number was handed out and he returned to the front. "Please read through these. They contain a class outline and a code of conduct that I expect to be adhered to. I have also included my telephone number and email address here at the school that I expect not to be abused." The idea of being so accessible was distasteful and provoked dread, but he was required to include the information. "Please take these home and have your parents sign the final page. I would like those turned in by Friday at the very latest."

As he spoke, the students flipped through the syllabus with varying degrees of interest. The wording he had used was as clear and concise as he could possibly make it but he asked anyway. "Does anyone have any questions?"

A few of the students shook their heads, the rest continuing to read through the handout or slide them into their binders or backpacks.

"I have a question." Edward Elric had his hand raised.

"Yes?" Andakar prompted, picking up a copy of the syllabus for reference.

The boy tapped himself on the spot between his eyebrows. "How'd you get that?"

The room grew quiet with only a couple of rapid whispers and the breath of an incredulous giggle. Andakar met the boy's gaze, somewhat incredulous himself. Edward held his eyes steady. His interest seemed clinical rather than out of concern or frivolous curiosity.

"Geez, Ed!" Ling Yao muttered behind Ed, giving the bottom of his seat a kick. "Nosy much?"

"Look, it's probably the first thing everybody wondered as soon as we got in here," Ed said, as much to Andakar as to answer Ling. "So I figured we might as well cut to the chase."

As much as he was affronted by the boy's question, however genuine his interest, there was a certain logic to that statement and Andakar was inclined to agree with it. There was bound to be an unseemly amount of speculation.

"It was the result of a building explosion nearly two years ago in Ishval," Andakar replied simply, which was all the explanation they were going to get.

A small, sharp gasp came from the third row. Winry Rockbell sat momentarily frozen in her seat, her face pale. Then she lowered her eyes to the scribbled page of her notebook and kept them there. The other students around her, Edward, Alphonse, Paninya, Ling, and Lan Fan, glanced at her in sympathy and concern. Andakar watched her for a moment with a strange sinking feeling in his chest, but since no one volunteered any explanation, he didn't pursue the matter. He also wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Then Edward turned back around in his seat, and for a moment so fleeting Andakar nearly missed it, the boy fixed him with a dark, accusing glare before bending down to pull his textbook out of his backpack and clapping it onto the top of his desk.

Mystified once again and not a little annoyed, Andakar seriously considered moving Mr. Elric to the position of _Problem Student Number One_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I've introduced a couple more canon characters and I've done some name/relationship/tweaking, among other things. Lucy/Lust and Rose are originally from Aerugo, which I am more or less patterning after Italy. Gleb/Gluttony is from Drachma which is generally patterned after Soviet Russia.
> 
> Here are some translations of various languages (the Ishvalan words are my own creation):
> 
>  _Non so che cosa fare_ =I don't know what to do
> 
>  
> 
> _Shto'zh podyelayesh?/em >=What can you do?_
> 
>  
> 
> __fyil_ =basically phyllo dough_
> 
>  
> 
> __Zhaarad_ =Ishvalan term of respect, equivalent to "Master."_
> 
>  
> 
> In my eagerness to get this posted, I sincerely hope I don't end up having to go back and change stuff because I forgot something or I was suddenly struck with a better idea :P


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping the pace isn't too slow, but stuff has to get established and mysteries have to be hinted at. I almost split these two sections into separate chapters, but they have certain parallels.

"I can't believe you're eating that!"

Lan Fan looked up from her Styrofoam lunch tray with a frown. "I like stuffed cabbage and they don't make it very often."

Ed dropped down across from her. "The first day of school and we get slapped in the with cabbage stank. I love this place."

Lan Fan just shrugged. "Deal with it."

Paninya swallowed a bite from her veggie-salad sandwich. "Don't judge, Ed. I could go off on all of you for eating meat, but do I? No."

Ed shook his head and dealt with it. He dunked the point of his pizza into his tiny cup of ranch dressing. "Remember when they used to leave out the big jar of dressing and you could just pump all you wanted? I miss that."

"It made a huge mess, Ed," Alphonse reminded him. "And between the pizza and the chicken nuggets and the fries, they were using up more than they were supposed to and they got in trouble with the head of food service. That's what Mrs. Jensen said, anyway."

Mrs. Jensen was one of the lunch ladies, all of whom adored Alphonse and would have gladly given him all the ranch dressing he wanted.

Lan Fan and Paninya slid apart to let Winry sit between them. She had also chosen the stuffed cabbage. Ed let out a sigh that everybody ignored. "It's not nearly as good as Granny's," Winry remarked. "But it's not too bad."

Lan Fan nodded. "Your granny makes the _best_!"

Ling sat down next to Ed and picked up his sub sandwich. "The best what? Cookies? Cuz, yeah! Uncle's always going on about Granny's cookies. And her pie. And those things there that she makes that look like they came out of a cow."

Ed nearly spit his food out and Lan Fan gave them a glower of disgust.

"Hey, Winry," Aphonse spoke up. "Are you doing okay? You know, from this morning?"

Winry looked up from her tray, meeting the gazes of her friends that were all now on her. "Um…yeah, I'm okay."

"You sure?" Ed demanded in angry remorse. "I'm really sorry!"

Winry smiled at him. "It's okay, Ed. You don't have to keep apologizing. You didn't know it was going to end up being a trigger kind of thing."

Ed shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm still sorry. I shouldn't even have asked about it. I should've kept my big mouth shut."

Both Paninya and Ling stood up with their fists in the air. "I don't believe it! He said it himself!" Paninya exclaimed.

"Now I can die!" Ling cried.

Ed stole one of Ling's tater tots. "I wish you would."

Alphonse chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, it was pretty much out of line, Ed."

"Hey guys!" Rik slid onto the bench next to Paninya. "You've got a sprout or something hanging off your chin."

Paninya gave an embarrassed little start and put her fingers to her chin, snatching off the alfalfa sprout.

"I'm pretty sure Mr. Ruhad wasn't too happy," Alphonse went on.

"Yeah, well I don't think it made much of a difference," Ed replied. "That guy is, like, seriously…" He frowned, looking for the right word.

" _Chushahai_ ," Rik said knowingly. They all turned to him, curious, and he went on. "I'm not sure what it means literally, but it's basically really conservative."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Oh, great!"

Rik frowned a little. "Well, not like politically. More like really proper and old-fashioned."

"He gives me the creeps," Ed muttered. "I don't know why. And it's not the scar. He just gives off, like, negative waves or something." He gestured broadly with his hands to illustrate waves coming off himself.

"Are you sure you're not just projecting?" Lan Fan asked. "Because—and I mean this constructively—you're kind of a negative person."

"I am not!"

Lan Fan lifted her hands. "I rest my case."

Ed opened his mouth then closed and gave a wry half grin. "Okay, maybe a little."

Lan Fan reached out and patted Ed's arm. "Baby steps."

The others laughed, which would have dispelled the tension if there had been any. This had been their usual banter since middle school, when they first became the tight-knit group they were now. They might have thought twice about taking a bullet for each other, but they'd at least think about it.

"You know," Rik said in the tone of sharing a confidence. "I've seen Mr. Ruhad at the temple. He started going there a few weeks ago with his brother."

"Oh, man, there's two of 'em?" Ed asked incredulously.

Rik shook his head. "No, his brother's pretty chill. He teaches at the university."

"So how come Mr. Ruhad wasn't all _fancy meeting you here_?" Paninya remarked.

Rik lifted his shoulders. "We haven't been hanging around after prayers for the chit-chat. My dad's been doin' the weekend warrior thing on our back yard and he's been wanting to get back to it. But I recognized Mr. Ruhad the minute he walked through the door. You don't miss a guy like that. He's kind of really solid and just...there. I mean _there_ , you know? There's some teachers you can just kind of look through and as long as you take notes you get through the class. You can't look through this guy. You can't even read him."

Ed and the others nodded. "Yeah, I think I know what you mean."

"He reminds me of the old people back in Ishval," Rik went on. "Like my great-grandmother. She's, like, two hundred years old and I have to talk really, really respectfully to her. Oh! And I have to do this thing where I have to take her gnarly old hand and touch the back of it to my forehead!" Rik shuddered. "We have to go back there to see her once a year because my _djaari_ —my grandpa—is always saying that it'll be our last chance, but it never is."

"But this guy's not old," Ling said. "I mean not _old_ old. He's, what, thirty, tops?"

Ed shrugged. "Whatever. At least we've got him for first period. Makes the rest of the day seem so much easier." He turned his attention back to Winry. "You sure you're okay?"

Winry let out a sigh of exasperation mingled with long-suffering patience. "Yes, Ed. I'm fine. It's been nearly two years." She smiled at the faces she shared the table with. "And all that time you guys have been awesome. I don't think I could've gotten through it without you!"

Both Paninya and Lan Fan squealed and wrapped their arms around their friend. Ling gave her his pudding and Rik offered her his second carton of chocolate milk.

Ed felt a little better. When Winry's parents died in that explosion when they were visiting Ishval, she kind of fell apart. He and Al knew what losing a parent was like. Their mother's death would always be a wound that never quite healed over and would open up every now and then. But at least they had seen it coming. Winry was never given even that small mercy. It was just _bam_ —literally—and they were gone. All because of some messed-up fringe group of Ishvalans who had it in for Amestrians.

It was just too weird of a coincidence that Mr. Ruhad had been injured in what was probably the same attack. How come he survived and Winry's folks didn't? It just seemed so unfair and…Ed couldn't even put into words what bothered him so much about it, as though he wanted to blame the Ishvalan teacher for the massacre. He wanted to blame somebody. While the others fussed over Winry, which he probably should have been joining in on, his moments of feeling a little better deserted him.

He wanted to blame somebody, it didn't help, but it was all he had.

 

"I was talking to King today." 

Solf kept his expression bland as he lifted his wine glass to his lips. _I was talking to King_ , as innocuous at it sounded, was usually the preface for a diatribe on all his failings. After the first couple of times, Solf finally clued in on the fact that Principal Bradley was basically spying on him and reporting back to Solf Sr. He could have quit his job at the school, but considering the strings that had been pulled to get him the position, his father would have been less than pleased. Dad was unlikely to go to that much trouble twice. Also, the alternative would be worse, considering the taut web of strings that were attached.

_I'm gonna throw an old-fashioned word at you, Solf. It's "wastrel." You know what that means?_

_Yeah, Dad, I know what that means._

_Well, that's a damn time saver! And get that smartass look off your face!_

Solf set down his glass and turned his attention to the ribeye steak on his plate. Once or twice a week, his father would send him a text. _Come over for dinner_. It wasn't a hearty, paternal slap-on-the-back invitation. It was a summons that he was expected to obey. On the one hand, the food was always good. Almost good enough to make up for his father's raking scrutiny and his self-absorbed monologues that were meant to be quality time with his son. Solf was expected to play along, nod, and give the right answers.

"What did you talk about?" he asked, displaying an interest he didn't feel.

Solf Sr. sat back and addressed the young man who stood in attendance close by. "Ted, go grab me some more of that horseradish."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Kimblee!" Ted scooted off promptly, leaving them momentarily alone in the dining room. It had nothing to do with keeping their conversation private. Solf Sr. had no qualms about humiliating his son in front of the help. He was a self-made millionaire and he had nothing but contempt for anyone who wasn't similarly motivated, like those Armstrongs, whose money was so old it still had primordial soup stains on it. He also really liked horseradish.

His father sat back in his chair. "King said he hired an Ishvalan over at the school."

Solf couldn't help lifting an eyebrow. Maybe this wasn't about him. He could feel his father's eyes on him from the other end of the table, waiting for a reaction.

He nodded. "He sure did." Until he knew where this was going, he wouldn't volunteer any additional information.

"I thought maybe he was talking about a new janitor or something, but no. As a new teacher." His father let out a little grunt of a laugh. "You should've heard King's little speech. He was trying to tell me that he wants to reach out to minorities, to encourage them, to give them the same opportunities as any other Amestrian citizen. So I says to him, and this has nothing to do with getting extra money from the government, right?" He chuckled again, making a gravelly sound. "So he gets that little smile of his and says, well, it doesn't hurt."

Solf Sr. shook his head, his momentary good humor gone. "I've known King a long time. He's as solid as they come. But I gotta wonder how much of this goody-two-shoes thing is an act, y'know?"

Yeah, Solf knew, and he nodded. He'd heard variations on this speech before. He sometimes wondered himself about his boss. There was definitely a hard core somewhere underneath the benevolent patriarch that was King Bradley. Personally, he didn't care if the man starred in the next high school musical, if he wanted to put on an act, let him. As long as he got paid.

Ted returned with a fresh bowl of horseradish sauce. Solf was tempted to pity his father's bowel movements, but the temptation was not a strong one. How cool would it be to get a frantic call from Ted in the middle of the night informing him that his father had been found dead in his bathroom, scorch marks on the wall. Solf Sr. slathered the stuff onto his beef and stuck it in his mouth. Solf liked his steaks unadulterated and put a large piece in his own mouth so he wouldn't have to talk for a moment or two.

Solf Sr. worked his mouthful a bit to the side. "So, you've worked with this Ishvalan yet?"

Solf had to rush through getting his steak down his throat. He took a gulp of wine and shook his head. "Not much, yet. It was just the first day. We've been in a couple of meetings, but he's not the talkative type." He neglected to mention that something about the new guy intimidated and unnerved him. He was like a solid block of cold, earnest granite. But Dad would probably want some juicier details. "Oh, and he's got this scar across his face. Kinda hard not to stare at it."

Solf Sr. shrugged dismissively. "Great," he grunted. "Well, all I can say is I hope King knows what the hell he's doing, 'cause I sure wouldn't have taken one of them on." His paused and Solf made the mistake of glancing across the table at him just in time to catch the narrow look. "They're bad news."

Okay, so maybe this was about him, after all, however veiled. Solf took it like a man and gave a nod. "They're poison," he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some clever person once said "write about what you know." Pllthptlth! However, I worked for several years as a lunch lady at my kids' school (yeah, I'm that old) so sometimes stuff comes in handy. 
> 
> Also, I really like stuffed cabbage. Slovak, Polish, Bosnian, whatever. To me, Amestris is a Euromutt sort of place so it is a regular thing. It was not, however, a staple at the school I worked at. Once, though, one of my co-workers made some _golabki_ for the teachers' counter. I was impressed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of the canon characters in this fic will be more like cameos or just support. I can't give everyone a significant plot line. So if it seems like I'm just glossing over some of them or not fleshing them out more, I apologize.

_…Being an assistant principal takes strong conviction, personal empowerment, and a willingness to seek out learning experiences beyond the school and district. APs must refuse to wallow in the discouraging aspects of the job and instead generate a positive energy that is so contagious that others are inspired to excel..._

Solf glared sullenly at his monitor.

_Seriously?_

King sent him links to articles like this about once a week. He was always "looking out for him" like that.

_…One of the harshest realities of being an AP is realizing that the daily routines and responsibilities are all consuming. Doing some of the "important" work translates into doing it in addition to all the "expected" work. It means putting in extra hours on your own time. It really means investing upfront to reap the returns through job promotion. Administrators who devote time and demonstrate commitment, patience, professionalism, and a positive attitude even in times of great disappointment or frustration are the ones who will move ahead..._

"Yeah, I don't think so," Solf murmured and sent the email to the file he created for that purpose. He didn't dare just send it to Trash. You never knew who might find out. He would have liked to name this file _Useless Shit Sent To Me By People Who Think I Give A Shit_ , but it was a little too long and would probably get him in trouble. He named it U.S. and if anybody asked he'd say it stood for _Useful Stuff._

Solf leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. There were certain perks to this job, not the least of which was getting to instill terror in the hearts of adolescents. That, of course, paled in comparison to the real sweetener, the one that appealed to his basest weaknesses.

In his youth, it was assumed that he would eventually become his father's primary business partner. He dawdled his way through an expensive private college with an eye to moving on to an MBA. After a few sidetracking distractions, it became clear that Solf was not master's program material. His father was annoyed but not discouraged. After all, he never went to college, and look where he ended up. So he let his son venture out into the world to pick up the same street savvy and survival skills that got his old man to the upper stratum of Amestrian society.

Solf spent his twenties making it increasingly clear that he did not inherit any of his father's business instincts. That was the difference between being born with a silver spoon in your mouth and having the smarts and the balls to forge your own spoon.

When Solf reached his thirties having carved very little of his own way in the world, his father gave him an ultimatum. Get a damn job, stick with it, and his father would match his salary cenz for cenz. Such an incentive was too good to pass up. With help from Solf Sr.—a word in the right ear here, a favor or two called in there, an old-boy network appealed to—Solf found himself an administrator at one of Central City's high schools with only the barest qualifications.

The catch was if he quit without lining up another position on his own (or was dumb enough to get fired), the deal was off and would not be offered twice.

So here he was, gainfully employed and more than generously compensated. Nice car, luxury apartment, expensive toys, lavish vacations when school wasn't in session. Other than having to work at all, he really couldn't complain.

The lunch bell rang and he glanced up at the clock. Halfway through the day. There were no meetings scheduled after school, but something might come up. If he ducked out in time, he wouldn't get stuck in anything. In the meantime, he thought he would wander across to the lounge and chew the fat with his colleagues. He smirked to himself. He harbored no illusions that he was in any way popular. Just like he did with the students, he liked to see them squirm.

* * *

The last of his fourth period class had left the room. It was lunch time and they hadn't hesitated to exit quickly. This was the class of students who had not scored well on their placement exams and math was a struggle for them. Andakar could feel their frustration and their anxiety and their unwillingness, and it made him angry that they had gotten all the way to high school by just "getting by." It was clear that in their earlier exposure to math, there was too much emphasis on procedural accuracy and not enough on conceptual understanding. He told them that he would be available during lunch periods for help, but none of them had taken him up on the offer.

He turned to clean off the whiteboard in anticipation of his fifth period class. He then sat down to glance through that day's unit one more time. As he opened his book he reached into the lower right hand drawer of his desk and took out a white paper bag. When he and Mattas stopped at La Sorelle that morning, Lucy had presented him with a sandwich which she said was to congratulate him for having gotten through two days of teaching high school without running like his hair was on fire. He guessed that she had the ulterior motive of trying to get him to like her. He certainly didn't dislike her, and it was unfortunate if she thought he did, but there was only so much he could contend with at once.

"Okay, this has got to stop!"

Andakar looked up with a wary start. Maes Hughes leaned in through the doorway, an eyebrow lifted in mock sternness. "I believe in healthy workplace boundaries as much as the next guy," he went on. "But you have to establish some first, not exile yourself."

Andakar had observed that of all the other teachers he had met, Hughes was the most extroverted. His idea of a healthy boundary—or exile, for that matter—was probably not that of other people's. Andakar sat back in his seat, a little at a loss. Should he apologize? Make excuses? Lock his door?

Hughes waved for him to stand up. "Come on! We're going down to the teacher's lounge. No arguments."

Andakar looked down at the open geometry book, recalling the conversation he'd had with Mattas just that morning.

_"I hope you're interacting with your co-workers."_

_"Of course I am."_

_Mattas cast him a sidelong look. "I mean other than just saying good morning and then hiding out in your room."_

_"I'm not hiding."_

_Mattas let out a long groan at that point._

Andakar closed the book and stood up. _I'm not doing this for anyone but you, Brother._ "I've been meaning to get down there," he lied.

"Well, here's your chance," Hughes replied cheerfully. "Now you won't have to make your grand entrance by yourself."

There was something in that, Andakar had to admit. Since there didn't seem to be any way of backing out now, he picked up the bag with his sandwich in it and followed Hughes out into the hallway. Students were still milling up and down, heading toward the stairs or gathering into groups. Two boys came barreling toward them.

"Whoa there!" Hughes called out. "Cool your jets, guys!"

The boys both grinned easily and slowed to a quick walk. "Sorry, Mr. Hughes!" one of them called back over his shoulder as they passed.

As they moved along the flow toward the stairs, Hughes raised his hand and called out. "Hey, Hey!"

Heymans Braeda, one of the Language Arts teachers, glanced at them with a smirk on his face at what was probably an old joke that he had resigned himself to. "Heading on down? I heard that Marian mixed up her killer spinach salad for the staff counter."

"Ooh, the one with the strawberries?"

Braeda nodded with a look of awe. "That's the one." He turned to Andakar with cordial interest. "How's it going? You settling in okay?"

"Well enough," Andakar replied.

"That good, huh?" Braeda nodded toward the stairs. "Heading down to the cafeteria? Or brown-bagging it? Or white bagging it, I guess." He took a second look at the parcel in Andakar's hand, which had the name of the coffee shop printed on it. "Oh, hey, La Sorrele! They make a mean sandwich over there! And I know my mean sandwiches."

The two men kept up an easy back-and-forth banter as they headed toward the stairs. Andakar followed them, silent for the most part, included into their conversation at least by proximity, but not excluded by limited acquaintance. They seemed to simply accept his presence as they would any of their other colleagues. It somewhat eased Andakar's urge to excuse himself and head back to his room. He had taken the plunge, unable to climb back up through thin air.

They crossed through the downstairs foyer and toward the teachers' lounge. This room had been used as an informal meeting place during the days before school started. It was furnished with a few couches, some tables and chairs, and a kitchen. A number of other teachers were already there, sitting around the tables or on the couches. Some were in the kitchen, reaching into the refrigerator or waiting for the microwave.

"Have a seat! Have a seat!" Hughes urged, steering Andakar toward one of the tables. There were four others sitting there who looked up and registered a little surprise at seeing him.

"Welcome!" Alex Armstrong, who taught Drama as well as Art, swept a hand to indicate the seat beside him. "Stand not upon the order of your sitting! Join us and be merry!"

Rebecca Catalina, who taught Physical Education, rolled her eyes, then smiled. "Nice to see you, Andakar." She pointed to a package of bottled water on the counter behind her. "Help yourself before you sit."

"Save me that seat there, Roy," Hughes said as he moved away from the table. "I'll be right back."

The teacher he addressed, Roy Mustang, looked up and gave a nod, then went back to his discussion with the man who sat next to him. Alonzo Garfiel taught Auto Shop and Metal Shop, both of which were in danger of being removed from the curriculum, from what Andakar had heard.

Mustang, who taught Chemistry and Physics, turned his attention back to Garfiel. "So what do you think?"

Garfiel tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well…I'd talk the price down. Sounds like it's a fuel pump problem, and you're looking at three hundred just for parts. Otherwise you're just paying a lot of money for someone else's headache."

"But it's a '98 GT!" Mustang insisted.

Garfiel let out a sigh that ended in a quiet chuckle. "Roy, Roy, Roy. A car is not an investment. Not even if it's your dream car."

Mustang spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on," Armstrong remarked sagely.

Garfiel waved a hand vaguely in the drama teacher's direction. "What he said. Okay. I'll see what I can do. I have a couple of favors I can reel in."

Mustang grinned. "Thanks, Gar."

"Don't mention it." Garfiel suddenly grabbed Mustang's wrist. "Tell me it's not red, please!"

"No, it's silver."

"Oh, thank goodness! Red is so obvious."

Andakar sat at the table and took his sandwich from its bag and unwrapped it. Garfiel leaned a little closer and inhaled appreciatively through his nose. "That," he said, "is the work of a genius. That must be one of Miss Lucy's specialties. I have so got to get back over there one of these days! Smoked turkey and Havarti with pesto. Am I right?"

Andakar picked up one of the cut halves. "I don't really know."

Garfiel's eyes widened. "You don't know?"

"She just gave it to me."

"Well, you lucky bastard." Garfiel clapped a hand over his mouth and glanced around quickly while the others laughed.

"Don't worry, Gar," Rebecca assured him. "King's not here and we won't tell."

Andakar bit into his sandwich. It seemed to be exactly what Garfiel guessed. It was also very good.

Hughes and Braeda returned with white foam trays piled with spinach salad. They joined the company at the table. "So where are Kain and Vato?" Hughes asked.

"They're in the computer lab for their D and D session with some of the kids," Roy replied.

"Wow, that started up fast," Rebecca remarked.

"They haven't stopped since last year," Roy said. "They're taking on some frost giants, so I'm told."

"Oh!" Maes suddenly looked up from his salad. "I got Elicia this awesome little pink Corvette hot wheels!" he declared, absolutely unrelated to anything. He held his thumb and forefinger a few inches apart. "Like this big! She makes little vroom noises and everything! It's so cute!"

The conversation bounced around easily in this manner for several minutes. It was a far cry from when Andakar would join the priests and the lay teachers during the midday break and discuss philosophy, theology, literature, history. Even so, he found himself beginning to relax just a little. He was not being scrutinized (not obviously, anyway) and no one was prying into his personal life. He was just being accepted as a part of this company of people.

When the door that connected to the foyer opened, the atmosphere of casual ease seemed to change. Assistant Principal Kimblee strode into the teachers' lounge carrying a ceramic coffee mug that had the words **I AM smiling** printed on it. There was a barely perceptible shift in the room, as though each scattered group closed ranks.

The others sitting around Andakar stiffened slightly and cast panicked glances at the remaining empty chair at the table. Kimblee pulled the chair out and sat down. "What say, troopers?" he greeted.

The others murmured their replies with a cordiality that was informal but not overly warm. If Kimblee noticed any of this, he gave no indication that he cared. Conversation lagged for a few moments as everyone concentrated on eating their lunch. Kimblee took a drink from his mug, eyeing the others over the edge of it. Andakar turned his attention back to his sandwich.

"That must have hurt like hell."

There were a few moments of silence, and Andakar looked up to find the assistant principal's eyes on him.

"Excuse me?"

"Your, um, injury." Kimblee prompted, tapping his forehead. "Painful."

Andakar hesitated, casting a quick glance at the others. They kept their expressions guarded but expectant. Expectant of what he wasn't sure.

"Yes, it was," he replied with enough terseness to discourage further inquiry. It didn't work.

Kimblee nodded. "I understand—" He sat forward a little. "Can I call you Andy?"

Never in his life had he ever been asked that. "I would rather you didn't."

"No problem." Kimblee replied easily. "I understand that you got caught in an explosion." He watched Andakar with a kind of fascination. "I remember reading about that a couple of years ago. Must've been a mess!"

The man's casual attitude struck Andakar as peculiar. He did not seem as interested in the event as he was in Andakar's reaction. He didn't know the man at all, really, and as his superior, he couldn't reply as he would have liked to. But perhaps that was the man's goal. But he was actually saved the effort.

"A mess?" Roy Mustang stopped short of giving Kimblee a hostile glare. "That's putting it mildly."

"Jean hates getting called out for explosions," Rebecca put in. She looked at Andakar, sympathy in her dark eyes. "My husband's an EMT," she explained. "There was a gas explosion down in the warehouse district a couple months ago." She shook her head. "Very nasty."

"But this one wasn't an accident," Kimblee went on, bringing the focus back to Andakar by pointing at him. "It was deliberate, isn't that right? It was set off by that IPA group." He picked up his mug and sat back in his chair with a disdainful look. "Bunch of religious crazies!"

This time Andakar bridled. "To dismiss them as crazy would be to absolve them from blame. They knew exactly what they were doing. And as much as they claimed to be defending our religion, their grievances were strictly political. If they had truly been moved by faith, they would never have done such a thing."

He was tempted to say more, but he caught himself. What he did say was more of an answer than Kimblee apparently expected, and the assistant principal considered him with a raised eyebrow. The entire lounge had gone quiet.

Kimblee quickly recovered and pressed on. "It was the Civic Center in—whatchacallit—Kanda, wasn't it? They'd just finished building it and _blooey_!" He shrugged. "What a waste."

"It was a tragedy," Maes countered with a solemn gravity as well as a little heat. "And it hit a lot closer to home than just Ishval. One of our own students lost her parents in that explosion."

Garfiel drew in a little gasp. "I know!" he said sadly. "Poor Winry!"

Andakar stiffened as the scene from the first day of school replayed unbidden through his mind. The quiet, profound sorrow that passed over that girl's face. He knew he would have no trouble remembering her name. Now it was seared into his memory. "Winry Rockbell?"

Garfiel nodded. "That's her!"

As the shock set in deeper, Andakar struggled to find his voice. "What…what were they doing in Ishval?"

"They were both doctors," Roy explained. "They had gone to Ishval to help open a clinic that was part of the Civic Center."

"I had Winry in my freshman class last semester," Heymans said thoughtfully. "She wrote an essay about her parents. I was bawling like a baby by the end."

Andakar could feel his hands start to shake and he set his sandwich down, having forgotten he was even holding it.

"Well, you must be thanking Ishvala big time for not getting any worse than that!" Kimblee said brightly, jerking his chin toward Andakar's face.

Andakar's head snapped up. He felt a rage that he hadn't felt in some time begin to burrow its way up through his chest. His mouth opened, dimly aware that he would regret what was going to come out of it.

"Your turn, Solf!"

With his mouth still open a little, he, along with the others, turned their heads toward the door that opened to the outside. Assistant Principal Armstrong had entered and was striding past their table. "Cafeteria duty," she announced.

"Is it that time already?" Kimblee twisted around to look at the clock. "So it is." He stood up and waved his hand with a smile. "Catch you later, folks!"

He sauntered toward the door and went outside. As soon as the door closed, the others stirred as though released a collective tension.

"Well, that was _fun_ ," Garfiel remarked drily, using his fingers to place invisible quotation marks.

Alex Armstrong rumbled darkly, "A villain with a smiling cheek, a goodly apple rotten at the heart."

Heymans nodded and gave a sly grin. "All that is within him does condemn itself for being there," he agreed.

Alex chuckled. "He has not so much brain as ear wax."

"He is not the flower of courtesy."

"He's a douche nozzle!" Rebecca hissed. She turned to Andakar with a concerned look. "Are you okay? You look a little shook up."

He was staring at the table top, only partly aware of the others' attempts at commiseration. He wrapped up the rest of his sandwich, unable to eat anymore with the tight knot in his stomach. "I'm fine," he said quietly. "I have to get ready for my next class. Excuse me."

He stood up and left the lounge, aware of how odd his behavior must seem. That awareness shrank in significance next to the idea that he couldn't push from his mind. Kimblee's questions and remarks were more annoying than anything else. What had shaken him was having a flesh-and-blood face put to the ghosts that haunted him.


	5. Chapter 5

"Lucy's invited us over for dinner tonight."

Maybe it shouldn't have been the first thing out of his mouth. He should have asked what's wrong or did something happen. But Mattas had been reading a book while he was waiting and didn't really notice his brother's expression when he got in the car.

Andakar stilled for a moment as the statement registered. Then he gave a brief shake of his head. "I'm sorry, Mattas. I can't."

Mattas drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I realize how childish this is going to sound, but you promised."

Andakar let out a slow, quiet sigh. "I'm sorry. I…" His features hardened a little and Mattas thought that he had just decided to obstinately clam up. Then he went on. "One of my students…her parents were killed in the Civic Center explosion. I just found that out today."

"Oh." Mattas slumped a little in his seat and rubbed his forehead. "Maybe I shouldn't bother saying this, but it wasn't your fault. When are you ever going to get that into your thick head?"

"When the world turns back on itself and I can reclaim my mistake," Andakar replied simply, his eyes fixed ahead.

Mattas sat still for a few moments. Then reached down to turn the key in the ignition. "Yeah, I figured I was talking to the moon," he muttered.

..........................................................................................................

"You see anything?"

"Hm…nope. You?"

"I got nothin'. Dang it! That was fixin' to be a good one!"

"Right." Fu Yao began quickly gathering up half the cards spread out on the table. Pinako Rockbell gathered the other half and they began sorting out the two decks.

"Whaddaya say? A couple more rounds?" Pinako asked, her eyes glinting.

Fu turned to the girls who were sitting nearby, his granddaughter and grand-niece and Pinako's granddaughter. "You girls in a hurry to get anywhere?"

"I'm okay," Mei said, her elbows on the table and her chin propped in her hands, watching the double solitaire duel.

Lan Fan, who had her nose in one of her school books, shrugged her shoulders but was too engrossed to reply. Winry was sitting cross-legged on a chair with her chin in her hand, gazing at nothing in particular. Pinako frowned a little. She always kept a pretty close eye on Winry, and the girl had been a little down after her first day of school. Since the death of her parents, Winry would now and then slip into a melancholy that would last for several days. It didn't cause any trouble; she just went on with her daily doings like she always did. Got all her homework done, helped around the house, that sort of thing. Acting like nothing was wrong when it so very much was. Pinako was no less torn up about the loss of her son and daughter-in-law. They were the best people she'd ever met. Having Winry, a perfect blend of her parents, was Pinako's consolation. She didn't know how much she filled that void for Winry, but she tried her hardest.

Winry drew herself out of her thoughts and smiled. "You go ahead. I wanna see you two go out."

Fu's mustache twitched in a smile. "All right then."

As concerned as she was about Winry, Pinako couldn't resist a challenge. She riffled her deck expertly. "You ready to do this?"

"Hold on, hold on." Fu shuffled quickly, trying to get in at least seven shuffles. "Okay, I'm set."

They quickly laid out two rows of cards, then built on them. With the remaining cards in their hands, they slid off three at a time, quickly laying them in alternating suits on top of the row of cards on the table. Their eyes darted back and forth, up and down, setting out a row of aces between the two rows, then twos, then threes. They started out rapidly, then slowed as they started to play out their strategies.

They each tried to set a six of diamonds on the five at the same time, but Pinako was just a little faster. Fu grumbled as he took his six back. Then he slapped a nine of clubs on the eight and Pinako groaned.

"Damn it! I had that one right here!" She glared at the old man. "I bet we're gonna regret that!"

"You, maybe," Fu chuckled, unperturbed. "Ha!" He put up a ten and a jack of spades in quick succession.

Pinako countered with an eight, a nine, and a ten of diamonds, and it was Fu's turn to growl. They slowed for a moment as their eyes swept over the rows of cards.

"What would you like for dinner, Winry?" Pinako asked, not taking her eyes from the table.

Winry shrugged. "Whatever. We still have a lot of spaghetti sauce left."

"Why don't you two come over," Fu suggested. "I'll order some take out." He moved a row of cards over and turned the next card face up.

"That'll be nice," Pinako said. "It's a school night, though, so we can't stay too late."

"Can we ask Alphonse over, too?" Mei breathed. She was still in middle school and developed a bit of a crush for the younger Elric boy. Pinako couldn't blame her. Al was a cutie, he was smart, and he had nice manners.

"I don't see why not," Fu replied, frowning at his remaining cards.

"'Cause you'll have to invite Ed, too," Pinako said with a smirk. "You're gonna have to order extra. That kid eats like a bird."

Fu glanced up at her with a scowl. "Huh?"

"Four times his own weight," Pinako chuckled.

"If we invite Ed," Lan Fan said, "we can't leave out Paninya and Rik."

Pinako and Fu exchanged a weary look. "How about on the weekend, then?" Fu suggested.

Pinako nodded. "That sounds better. We'll make it pot luck."

"How about a movie night?" Winry suggested.

Pinako raised her eyebrows a little. That certainly sounded positive. She grinned at Fu. "How about it? Seein' as you dropped a load for that big ass flatscreen."

"Hey, I'm old and I'm entitled," Fu countered. He slammed the king of spades onto the queen so hard the table shook.

The girls grinned at each other in anticipation and started debating on movie choices. Fu reminded them that he liked old black-and-white romances. Pinako liked shoot-em-ups. They figured a mix would appeal to everyone. Now that Winry seemed a little more cheerful, Pinako could concentrate on her game.

The game play suddenly accelerated. Pinako and Fu were suddenly on their feet, slapping cards on the table in rapid fire succession. Pinako slammed down her last card, the king of hearts, before Fu could get even get his queen of diamonds. The diminutive woman let out a whoop, raised her fists in the air and did a little victory dance. Fu let out a loud groan, clutching his head and cursing in Xingese. The other seniors in the game room rolled their eyes and shook their heads.

The girls regarded their elders with solemn bemusement. "You guys sure know how to shake this place up!" Winry said with a laugh.

Pinako chuckled. "If I can beat this old goat at double solitaire and do at least one cartwheel a day, I figure I'll last a little longer."

Mei brightened. "I want to see you do a cartwheel!"

Pinako smiled at her. "Some other time, sweetie-pie. I already did mine today."

....................................................................................................................

Professor Hohenheim shrugged into his jacket. September in Central City tended to get pretty cool once the sun went down. He took his wallet from the inner pocket and took out a couple of bills. Stepping into the family room, he found his sons. Alphonse was reading and Edward was playing a video game. Van didn't quite get how Alphonse could immerse himself in a book while surrounded by explosions and gunfire, but he'd always been able to focus. Probably a contributing factor to his being advanced to the same grade as his older brother.

Van didn't quite get Edward. Period.

"Did you boys finish your homework?" he asked, having to raise his voice to be heard over the carnage from the television and to get into Alphonse's shell.

"Uh-huh," Edward mumbled. It lacked a certain sincerity, but Van had sort of given up on pushing it. His grades were good, so he figured he'd spare himself.

Alphonse lifted his head. "Yeah, Dad." Van smiled. Alphonse pretty much made up for everything and made him feel like he wasn't a total failure as a parent. Alphonse noticed the jacket. "Are you going out?"

"Yeah. I'm going to see Bert Hawkeye. It's Wednesday and his daughter's working." He handed Alphonse the cash. Ed was more likely to let it sit and forget to eat once he got too deep into Elder Scroll Fullmetal Gear Solid or whatever the hell it was. "Here's if you want to grab something from the corner deli."

"Thanks, Dad." Alphonse took the bills. "Where are you going?"

"Vorace's, probably. I want to make sure he eats, not just drinks."

"Ha!" Ed blurted out, which surprised the heck out of his father, who was convinced that he had been completely tuned out. "That's N.V.'s brother's place."

"Well, it's a good restaurant," Van remarked. "Maybe the three of us can go there sometime."

"I'd like to do that," Alphonse said. Ed just swore when he got shot and blood spattered on the screen.

Van nodded. "Well, make sure you don't stay up too late. I'm not sure how long I'll be."

"Have a good time."

Ed gave a curt laugh. "With Bert Hawkeye? 'Good time' is kind of optimistic, isn't it?"

"Well…" Van couldn't deny that the kid had a point. "Sometimes listening to other people's problems can be cathartic."

"Yeah, cuz nobody's life sucks worse than Ol' Bert's."

Van shook his head and moved to the door. "Just keep a lid on the place, okay?"

......................................................................................................................

Berthold Hawkeye, professor of Physics at Central U, looked like a haunted man. But it was Wednesday, so it was only to be expected. Once Thursday rolled around, he'd be better. His wife died on a Wednesday, and Bert couldn't stand being alone on that day. He really wasn't the best of company at the best of times, but he and Van went back a long way, so he could hardly say no. Van couldn't blame the man's daughter for wanting a week or two off from holding Dad's hand and keeping him from drinking himself into oblivion.

This involved an exhausting two-plus hours of keeping up cheerful, distracting conversation. They could talk shop to a certain extent, both being on the same faculty though not in the same department. Van taught History, which really could cover a lot of ground, like the history of physics.

They did the usual wrangling about how Tesla was a genius and Edison was a plagiarizing hack and Descartes' corpuscles and Newton's laws. Then they got onto the inevitable subject of children.

"How're your boys?" Bert asked, cutting into his lamb scottadito. He frowned at the empty hi-ball glass at his elbow and looked up to catch the waiter's eye.

Van eyed the glass as well. This would be his third. "They're all right. Off to another school year. Oh, by the way, do you know Mattas Ruhad in Linguistics?"

Bert lifted his shoulders as their waiter, a large, broad shouldered man with grey hair, loomed up to their table. "I'll take another one of these."

"No problem," the man rumbled, taking the empty glass.

"Where do they get these guys?" Bert mumbled as the waiter loomed away toward the bar.

"Uh…ex-military, I think," Van replied, although he had no idea. The man could have been an ex-con, for all he knew. As he drew his eyes away from the waiter's back, another man stepped toward their table, patting the waiter on the back as he passed.

This gentleman looked to be roughly in his thirties with a trim build and stylishly spiked hair. He was dressed in an expensive, clearly custom-tailored suit, black with a slight purple sheen to the fabric. He strode through the restaurant with a proprietary air, nodded and chatting with various patrons on his way. He came up to the side of their table and bowed a little from the waist.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" he greeted. "I trust you're enjoying your visit to my humble establishment?"

Van nodded. "I am, thank you," he replied. He couldn't speak for Bert because Bert never enjoyed himself ever, anywhere.

"You've got a halfway decent bartender," Bert muttered.

The man glanced over his shoulder toward the extremely well-stocked bar at one end of the restaurant. "Dolcetto?" He chuckled. "Yeah, he's my _paisano._ We go way back."

"May I assume that I am addressing Mr. Vorace himself?" Van asked.

The man looked at him with a slightly amused smile and, placing a hand over his heart, he gave another bow. "None other. Gregorio Vorace. But you can call me Grey." He narrowed his eyes and shook his finger a little. "And if I am placing you correctly, I believe you are Professor Hohenheim over at Central U."

Van was fairly impressed. "I am. How did you happen to know that?"

"Ah!" Grey's grin widened. "Well, for one, I've seen you in here once before and I apologize for not welcoming you at that time. Also, I got this kid brother, y'know? And on account of me bein' the responsible older sibling, I like to keep tabs on all his associates. I'm pretty sure you've got a couple of boys who share classroom space with my little Nicolo."

"Uh..." Van had to think about that for a moment. "Oh! Are you talking about a boy named N.V.?"

Grey's grin closed down a little. "Yeah, that's him." He rolled his eyes. "Like the name our folks gave him outta love and the goodness of their hearts wasn't good enough? No, he's gotta come up with that stupid moniker. Drives Mama crazy! And she don't like bein' driven crazy."

"Yes, I think I know what you mean." It occurred to Van that Bert was being left out of the conversation. "He doesn't have any school-age children, so his name probably isn't familiar to you, but my associate here is Berthold Hawkeye. He's down at Central U, as well."

Bert glanced up and gave Grey a mute nod. Grey considered Bert for a moment, tapping his lips with his finger. "I believe you have a daughter in the emergency medical profession, am I right, Mr. Hawkeye?"

Bert looked a little startled and slightly suspicious. "How do you know that?"

Grey spread his hands in a modest gesture. "What can I say? I like to keep my finger on the pulse of the city. Plus, your lovely daughter was here in a professional capacity not that long ago when one of my sous chefs fainted. Nice girl. Her partner's a kick, too. Tall, blond guy."

Bert nodded. "Jean Havoc. Yeah, he's okay. Too bad about him getting snapped up by that other woman," he grumbled. Probably a good two-thirds of whatever came out of Bert Hawkeye's mouth was grumbled.

"I gave 'em both a couple of complimentary dinner coupons 'cause of their stunning public service," Grey went on. His grin reappeared. "Maybe they'll put together a double date, ya think?" he suggested with a wink.

"Hm!" Bert grunted. "Maybe."

"Well, then!" Grey clapped his hands together. "I'll let you two scholarly gents enjoy the rest of your evening, and if there is anything G. Vorace can do for you, you just let me know, okay?"

"You can speed up that drink I ordered," Bert said.

Grey snapped his fingers. "Comin' right up, Professor!" He swung away from the table and headed for the bar.

"Well, that was nice," Van remarked. "I think I will bring the boys here sometime. So what were we talking about?"

"Somebody at the college," Bert hinted, taking a garlic roll from the basket on the table.

"Oh, yes. Mattas Ruhad. Do you know him?"

"The Ishvalan? Not well," Bert replied. "I mean, we nod and say hi but we don't cross paths much. He's gotten to be the star of his department, from what I hear. What about him?"

"Well, it's not him so much, but Alphonse told me that his math teacher is Mattas' brother. He just started there."

"Huh. That so?" Anything below college level was of very little interest to Bert. But then he focused on Van's face with a scowl. "So he works with Mustang, huh?"

"Well, yeah, but so do a lot of people," Van replied diplomatically. He had forgotten about that. But the cat was out of the bag now.

"Miserable womanizer!" Bert grumbled, on the lookout for his next drink. "I'm surprised they let him teach kids!"

Van let out a sigh. "You know, Bert. You need to learn to just let stuff go. You'll be a lot happier."

"Let stuff go?" Bert snapped. "That jerkoff seduced my daughter!"

Van happened to know from Bert's daughter, who felt compelled to moderate her father's fixation, that it had been a brief but doomed romance that had been mutual in its inception as well as its termination. Riza began to hint that there were some lingering feelings, but then dismissed the idea as having said too much.

"I mentored that creep!" Bert grumbled on. "He was my favorite student! We had a connection! I invited him over for dinner one time and wham, bam, thank you ma'am!"

_Whatever that means._ Van was fairly sure Bert had only a tenuous grasp of the facts.

"My daughter is everything to me!" Bert said, a little petulantly. "She's all I've got now."

_Oh dear. Here we go._

"Ever since I lost Marie…" Bert swallowed and left the rest unsaid, much to Van's relief.

"Yes, I know how you feel," Van replied. Well, he did and he didn't. He did not use his boys as emotional crutches, or at least he hoped he didn't. He was their sole provider and protector, and if he wasn't quite in tune with their generation, at least they had a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs and medical coverage. "Losing Trisha left a big hole in my life." But he wasn't going to get maudlin about it around Bert. Then they'd both be drunk, singing old love songs out of tune and driving away the other diners.

Bert's drink arrived and he cheered up a little. That wasn't necessarily a good sign, but Van would take what he could get right now. "So how're you doing with your older boy?"

"Ah." Now there was something to drive a man to drink. "I don't know. I just do what I can. Try to make myself available, but he's got his own stuff going on."

Bert looked wary. "What kind of stuff? You mean, like drugs?"

"What? No!" Van exclaimed. "Shit, Bert! Nothing like that! He just…well, he's just an angry kid. He came out angry. Red and squalling." He ran his hand over his beard. "He took his mother's death a lot harder than Al did. I mean, they both took it hard, but Al was able to bounce back a little. Ed is…I dunno…angry at the world in general but he needs a target closer to home. That'd be me."

Bert took a swallow from his hi ball. "Well, you can always boot him out in a couple of years."

"No, I'm not going to do that. I want to keep my family together. I just deal with it."

"Deal with it!" Bert echoed with a bitter, mocking grunt. "I'm so damn tired of hearing that phrase!"

Van turned his attention back to his own meal. _Deal with it, Bert._


	6. Chapter 6

When Lucy opened her apartment door, she planted a fist on her hip and arched an eyebrow at Mattas. He could only shrug, having a bag with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other. Lucy jerked her chin at the flowers.

"Don't tell me," she remarked drily. "Those are from your brother."

"Fat chance." Mattas leaned down to kiss her. "He is sorry, though. And damn it smells good in here!"

Lucy's scowl transformed into a smile. "Of course it does." She closed the door as Mattas stepped past her and headed for the kitchen. "So what was this 'setback' you mentioned?"

"Oh…" Mattas set the flowers on the table and pulled the wine bottle from the bag. "Just something that came up and bit him in the ass."

Lucy made a quick inspection of a couple of cupboards. "What, you mean like a small angry animal?"

Mattas had to grin a little. "No. It was just one more thing that…" His smile faded. "It's so complicated, Lucy."

Lucy took a white ceramic vase from one of the cupboards. "You told me a little."

"Just a little," Mattas admitted. "I guess I felt like it wasn't my story to tell."

Lucy took the vase to the sink and began to fill it with water. "Well, that's fair. I'll forgive him this time, even though I put a lot of effort into this dinner. But he's your brother, so he's family." She smiled back at him over her shoulder. "And I look out for my family."

A smile spread on Mattas' face, then he sobered a little. "Yeah, I'm sorry you had to go to so much trouble," he said with a rueful shrug. "I was sure Andakar would be coming. I didn't think he'd get like this."

Lucy waved her hand. "Oh, don't worry about it." She set the vase on the counter and began to unwrap the roses. "And if it's any consolation, Rose tried to cheer herself up today by coloring her hair." She let out a huff of air. "No, that's not quite right. She did a weird thing because she was angry and now her hair looks stupid and she's hiding in her room." She took some scissors from a drawer and started furiously trimming the rose stems. "Seriously, Matt. I don't know what she was thinking. You'd think she was still in high school or something."

Mattas gave a soft laugh. "I promise I won't make fun of her. She doesn't have to hide. Family, right?"

"I'll see what I can do." Lucy put the roses into the vase and stepped back to admire them. "Those are gorgeous!" She carried the vase to the table, where three places were set. One side of the table was conspicuously bare. "How about you open that wine while I drag Rose out here."

While Mattas pulled open the drawer where Lucy kept her corkscrew, she went down the hallway. Mattas could hear a knocking sound and part of a conversation.

"Come on out, _bambina_! It's dinner time!"

There was a muffled reply that Mattas didn't quite catch.

"Then you don't have to eat much. Just come out here."

Another muffled reply.

"It doesn't matter! Pajamas are fine. Just come on out!"

The next muffled reply was drowned out by Lucy heaving a deep sigh. "Please, Rosina! Do this for me, okay?...thank you!"

Lucy came back out into the living/dining room with her hands raised in thankful supplication. As she bustled back and forth from the kitchen to the table, setting out a tossed salad, a basket of bread, and an enormous lasagna, a young woman came out from the hallway.

There was something adorably poignant about Rose. She was wearing an oversized hoodie, baggy plaid pajama pants, and fuzzy slippers. Her arms were folded protectively in front of her chest in the way of those whose heartache is still tender. She had, indeed, colored her hair, but just the very front, which was now pink. The expression on her face was a little embarrassed but also a little defiant.

Mattas smiled at her as disarmingly as he could. He held out his hand. "Hi, Rose. I'm Mattas."

Rose looked up at him with the same violet eyes Lucy had, except they were a little bigger. A halfhearted smile tugged at her lips and she took Mattas' hand. "Hi. S'nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you _finally_. Come here!" Mattas pulled her into a hug. She didn't exactly return it, keeping her arms close to herself, but she didn't pull away. He didn't hold her long enough for her to get uncomfortable and he stepped back. "I like your hair."

She didn't look like she was buying it. "Lucy told you to say that, didn't she?"

"Nope," Mattas assured her.

Rose eyed him a little uncertainly. "Honest?"

Mattas pressed his hand over his heart. "I swear on the honor of the House of Ruhad."

Rose nodded. "Well, that sounds pretty binding." She considered him a little more closely. "Lucy said you were nice."

Mattas lifted a shoulder. "I hope so." Apart from modestly admitting to being a brilliant linguistician, Mattas had a quality about him that inspired confidence and trust. It was one of the things that helped tip the balance and get him a position at Central University, the nation's largest institution of higher education. It also seemed to be working on Rose. She didn't exactly squeal with glee, but she at least seemed to accept the fact that he was going to be around for a while.

"'Scuse my jammies," she murmured and walked past him to the table.

The food was spectacular, and Mattas earned a very pleased smile from Lucy for saying so. Rose picked at hers, although she did accept a second glass of wine when it was offered, gaining an irritated but concerned glare from her sister. There was more than enough lasagna and Mattas helped himself to a second serving.

Rose stood and picked up her plate. "Thanks, Lu," she murmured. "That was good."

"Yeah, like you ate enough to know," Lucy muttered.

"I told you I wasn't hungry," Rose replied a little wearily, taking her plate over to the sink.

Lucy arched an eyebrow, turning her wineglass. "There's pie."

Mattas gazed at his plate, wishing he hadn't eaten so much. "There's pie?"

"I'll have it for breakfast," Rose called over the sound of running water. She put her plate and utensils in the dishwasher, then headed back to the hallway. She paused and turned around. "Nice to meet you, Mattas. You seem pretty solid. 'Night, Lu."

"Good night, Rose. It was nice to meet you, too."

"'Night," Lucy replied, giving up.

................................................................................

Lucy had laid in wait for an apartment that overlooked the city instead of an alley or the back of someone else's apartment. Her tenacity paid off and now she and Mattas rocked slowly in the glider bench that took up most of the balcony, gazing out at the city lights with what was left of the wine and a couple of empty dessert plates.

They were comfortably silent for a while until they both let out quiet sighs. Looking at each other, they grinned a little.

"Don't tell me!" Lucy said. "Emotionally compromised sibling?"

"Uh-huh." Mattas breathed out another sigh, this one with a little more edge to it. "What bothers me most isn't having to…babysit," he said with a rueful smirk. "It's the fact that Andakar used to be so…I don't know…dynamic, I'd have to say. When we were kids he couldn't decide what to be when he grew up because what he really wanted to do was change the world."

Lucy nodded her head against Mattas' shoulder. "I know what you mean. Rose use to just sparkle! People used to come to the coffee shop just so they could start their day with one of her smiles. I wish I could get that Rose back. Maybe it's just me, but I feel like when life kicks you in the teeth you gotta kick back, not just lay there and get trampled."

"Mm," Mattas commiserated. "The thing about Andakar is that all this stuff that happened to him was kind of self-inflicted. He expected so much and he ended up being disappointed and then he blamed himself. He studied for the priesthood, but then he got talked out of it. " He shook his head to express his bewilderment at that. "So he became a teacher, and that actually worked out pretty well, although it was always only a second best for him. Then he got involved with some people who also wanted to change the world, but they weren't as…forthright as he was."

"Forthright?" Lucy repeated, a little amused. "That's an old-fashioned word."

"He is old-fashioned. Sometimes I think he was born about a hundred years too late. Anyway…" Mattas frowned a little and adjusted his glasses on his nose. "These people…well, this girl—"

"Oh, dear!"

"Yeah…he kind of fell like a ton of bricks."

"Matt, honey, you don't _kind of_ fall like a ton of bricks."

Mattas chuckled a little. "No. You don't. So this girl and her brother and their friends were kind of anti-Amestrian rabble-rousers. Andakar sympathized with them to a certain extent, but he tried to get them to ease up a little."

Lucy straightened up and fixed Mattas with a determined look. "I get the feeling you're leaving stuff out. You can trust me, you know. And so can your brother."

Mattas pushed his fingers through the hair that fell over his forehead. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. Okay, these people were the Ishvalan People's Advocacy."

Lucy's mouth dropped open a little. "You're kidding!" Then she drew in a gasp. "They're the ones who blew up that building! Are you saying that Andakar was mixed up in that? Is that why he was there when it happened?"

"No, that's not why!" Mattas assured her. "The police thought he was an accessory, but he wasn't. But he _felt_ responsible. He blamed himself for not preventing it."

"Could he have?"

Mattas shrugged. "Maybe. But he was cleared, mainly because the real perps were caught. Also because my father is a _margaan_ —a judge—and he's pretty highly placed so he has influence." He paused and rubbed his eyes. "Once he was out of the hospital, he felt like he needed to do something to atone for the lives that were lost. So instead of doing something sensible, he takes on what's called a _surgun_. It's a period of self-exile. It's an ancient ritual that nobody had done for at least a century. You go out into the desert, completely removing yourself from any human contact, and you stay there for a year."

Lucy looked skeptical. "Are you serious?"

Mattas nodded. "That was my reaction. I was here in Central, and when my mother called me to tell me about it, I nearly grabbed a train back there to talk him out of it. But my mother told me that Andakar was convinced that this was something he needed to do." He lifted his hands helplessly. "So off he went."

"What's the point?" Rose asked. "I mean, what's the significance? If you survive, does that mean you're off the hook for whatever your did?"

"My understanding is that it's a personal journey," Mattas explained. "It's not just a matter of surviving in the desert. Total isolation is an Ishvalan's concept of Hell. The _surgun_ is supposed to be a foretaste of that."

As Mattas paused, the sliding glass door opened behind them. "So what happened?"

Lucy and Mattas both jumped. "Son of a _bitch_ , Rose!" Lucy snapped. "Eavesdropping? Really?"

Rose took a bite of pie and shrugged. "Hardly." She waved her fork around. "I mean, anybody could hear you." She looked at Mattas and asked again, "So what happened out in the desert?"

Mattas sat back and shrugged. "That's the part I don't know about, and Andakar hasn't told me. I'm not sure if he's told anyone. After a year, he came back, and you can imagine what a mess he must have looked like. For weeks, he couldn't even interact with people. Finally, he dragged himself back to teaching. But he had shut down, just functioning like a machine. He made people uneasy. It was like torture for everyone involved. The school headmaster thought he needed a change, which was just a nice way of saying he wanted him gone. So that's when my parents called me to see if I could find him something here in Central. I had seen a couple of articles about how some of the high schools were looking to hire more teachers, particularly minorities. I personally didn't think it was going to make much of a difference, but Andakar was determined not to shame his family anymore, as he put it. So he sent in his resume and he got a call back. And that's where he is now."

Mattas glanced back at Rose, including her into his story, then he turned to Lucy. "I thought he was actually doing a little better. It was a huge step for him to come out here and get this job, but he did it." He shook his head. "Then today he found out that the parents of one of his students died in that explosion."

Lucy groaned. "Oh, that must've been a kick in the gut! That's why he didn't come tonight!"

Mattas nodded. "That's why."

"What happened to the girl?" Rose asked. "The one he didn't kind of fall for like a ton of bricks?"

"Yeah, there's that, too," Mattas said with a grimace. "She was killed in the explosion."

Rose's fork dropped with a clatter onto her pie plate. Without another word, she turned away and went back inside.

Lucy leaned her head back and groaned again, ending in a weary, mirthless chuckle. "You know, I'd say we need to get those two together, but I don't think I could take all the I-can-gloom-better-than-you-can-doom."

Mattas had to laugh, but not very loud. He put his arm around Lucy and pulled her close. "I'm not sure I could either."

.....................................................

The interior of the temple was dim, lit only by small lights spaced along the polygonal angles of the creamy sand-colored walls. On the first of the two steps that let up to the rough-cut stone altar in the center, there was a small brass bowl with a small mound of glowing myrrh. The smoke climbed up in lazy tendrils toward the ceiling. The petition sent with it would rise well beyond. That, at least, was the hope of the petitioner.

Andakar loved his brother deeply. He even liked the apartment building where they lived. It was nearly ninety years old and had a grace and a serenity that was absent from modern architecture. But it was here at the Ishvalan temple, which was only about twenty years old, that he felt most at home.

No, that wasn't quite right. It felt more like what he was used to. It stood out in the eastern section of Central City as something decidedly un-Amestrian. Not out of place, necessarily, but conspicuous by its exotic differentness. That was how he felt most of the time, and it didn't seem to matter where he went.

But his mind wandered. He drew his thoughts back to his prayers. It was probably considered excessive, but he kept bringing the same sins to lay before the altar. It was all he had to offer. Each time he went away, he would hope that maybe, just maybe, this time he would be given a glimpse of what he was seeking. He had to hope. If he gave in to despair, if he was utterly convinced that the Creator had indeed turned His back to him, he might as well be dead.

All those months in the desert, offering up his very life, looking for, waiting for an answer. It wouldn't be blazoned across the sky, written in clouds, or drawn into the sand by some divine stylus, or carved into the rock formations. It would be written on his heart. He wouldn't see it, but he would know it was there. Something. Anything.

_Something great_.

_Saahad Logue_ was a wise, pious, holy man, but maybe he was wrong.

He did not begrudge the five years of his life that he had devoted to studying for the priesthood. There was no arguing the obvious benefits of the education he had received, not to mention the physical training and discipline. He would never lose that. But he often had to fight against the bitterness that haunted him since the day, so close to his entrance, when the chief priest of all Ishval took him aside and advised him that the priesthood might not be the path his life should take.

If Andakar had heard that from anyone else, he would have politely thanked them for their concern and told them that he was sure they were mistaken. But this was Logue Lowe. He was an old, old man. He had achieved such a state of serene holiness that he seemed only half in this world. And he was possessed of an uncanny gift of discernment. When he told you something, you listened and you took it to heart.

The stunned, tragic disappointment was quite obvious on Andakar's face and _Saahad_ Logue had continued with a gentle kindness. "My son, don't grieve. I do not say that you would not be a most excellent priest. But…" Here the old man paused and here was when he seemed to draw the words from Ishvala's very thoughts. He spoke in a near whisper. "You are like a brilliant flame to which others will come to warm themselves by but by which they can also be burned."

Andakar's bewilderment must have been just as obvious, and the old man smiled. "I'm not saying that you're not a good fit for the priesthood. It, I think, is not a good fit for you. Literally. It cannot contain you. It is a public ministry, yes, but there is also a need for a certain detachment, or rather, non-attachment."

Saahad Logue fixed him with a look that bore into his very soul. "You must be _attached_. Not to material things, no. You must be in the world. You are destined for something great. What that is I cannot tell you. When it is revealed to you, you must be prepared to recognize it for what it is because greatness is reflected only in the eyes of others."

And that was all he said.

Andakar let out a long, slow breath, and the elegant wisp of smoke from the little brass bowl stirred and scattered briefly, only to smooth itself out again as though nothing had happened, like he wasn't even there.

"Andakar?"

He lifted his head as _Saahad_ Imir approached, stopping at a respectful distance. "I'm not trying to rush you, but you've been there for an hour."

"I have?" He'd had no idea. "I'm sorry. You want to lock up."

"Oh, don't worry about that." The priest walked over and sat down on the top step near the corner of the altar. He grinned. "I figured your legs must be getting numb."

Imir had been one of Mattas' schoolmates and had entered into the priesthood four years before Andakar's own attempt had failed. He was a lot like Mattas, easygoing and likeable, yet a profound scholar, a good fit for the priesthood. Better than Andakar's, apparently.

One of his former teachers officiated here as well, a man of gentle wisdom and unshakeable faith. Both priests were humble, yet confident, each in their own way. Andakar envied them both.

Imir rested his forearms on his knees. He was dressed in a loose Isvhalan tunic of bleached muslin over a pair of faded jeans and a pair of leather sandals. His _chuva_ was unknotted and draped over his shoulders. The temple was built in a strictly traditional style, but the atmosphere was rather more casual this late in the evening.

"Anyway, were you actually finished?" Imir asked. "You can stay a while longer, if you want to."

Andakar gave a slight shake of his head. "No, I'm finished."

Imir straightened up a little to perform his priestly duty. "Are there any words you wish to give voice to?"

"No, _Saahad_ ," Andakar said, giving his response. "I have unburdened myself and…" A wry, mirthless smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "And there's nothing you haven't already heard."

Imir smiled and rose to his feet. "I figured." He stepped closer to Andakar and laid a hand on his head. "Receive the blessing of Ishvala in the hope that you find the peace that you seek."

He hadn't yet, but he couldn't stop trying. "Thank you, _Saahad_."

"You want a beer?"

The solemn, quiet sanctity of the moment popped like a soap bubble. Andakar looked up at the priest with a shocked expression. "You keep beer in the temple?"

Imir scoffed indignantly. "No, of course we don't keep beer in the temple!" He pointed over his shoulder. "We keep it in the kitchen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imir is a semi-canon character that I named. He's a random Ishvalan who appears briefly next to Scar's Master about seven minutes into episode 53 of Brotherhood and in chapter 94 of the manga.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to mention here that I sucked at math and barely remember my own high school math experience except that I sucked at it. More recently, while my daughter was taking Geometry in 10th grade, other people were taking Calculus. All I can say is Jumpin' Bob Howdy. So I'm not going in for too much real-life detail.
> 
> And another language thing that I forgot in the last episode. In my Ishval-verse, the honorifics _saahad_ and _zhaarad_ both mean "master". The first is strictly for priests and the second is secular.

They stared at each other for a moment—she at his scar and he at her pink dye job. She looked away first; his eyes lingered a moment longer, primarily out of curiosity.

Introductions were superfluous at this point, but Mattas and Lucy seemed to find them necessary. Andakar guessed that Rose was less than happy about being here but, like him, she was trying to get on with her life, or at least was being convinced that she needed to.

"It's nice to see you here, Rose," Mattas said warmly. That was Mattas' style. Gentle, encouraging, but subtly relentless. It drew a small smile from Rose.

"You mean it's nice to see her wearing clothes!" Lucy remarked. Although he didn't know her well, it was plain that Lucy's rehabilitation strategy included teasing, albeit affectionately. It didn't always work.

Andakar glanced warily from her to Rose, who scowled at the cash register. " _Thanks_ , Lucy!" she mumbled.

"I mean, as opposed to the pajamas she's been living in since she got back," Lucy explained for Andakar's benefit.

"Oh, yeah! That makes it _so_ much better!" Rose retorted.

" _Oi, dyevushki_!" Gleb moved between the two sisters and hugged them. "Play nice, now!" He gave Rose and extra squeeze. "You know we love you, _milen'ka_."

"Yeah," Rose sighed grudgingly.

Andakar didn't blame her resentment. Lucy's teasing was clearly an unwelcome intrusion, but he supposed it was to be expected from people who, however well-meaning, did not carry the same kind of burden.

Lucy turned her attention to him. "Did you try any of that lasagna Mattas brought back?"

"Not yet," Andakar had to admit. He had gone to bed as soon as he walked back from the temple.

Lucy planted her fists on her hips. "Oh, I like _that_!"

"He brought it with him for his lunch today," Mattas seemed to feel the need to add, as though speaking about a child.

"Oh!" Lucy smiled playfully. "Did you bring enough for the other kids?"

This was becoming tiresome, and Andakar didn't even know how to answer her question. The plastic container that Mattas had insistently shoved into his hands before they left the apartment held a slab of lasagna that could feed a small village. No clever rejoinder came to mind.

"I'm sorry I didn't come last night," was the best he could manage.

Lucy gave an easy flick of her hand. "Oh, it's okay!" She pointed at him. "Next time, though!"

Andakar nodded. He supposed he would have to. Mattas paid for their coffees and shared the usual parting kiss with Lucy. Andakar ventured a final glance at Rose, who had stepped back from the cash register and was leaning against the counter behind her, pointedly not looking at her sister's display of affection. He was moved to offer a gesture of fellow-feeling, but he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't be some empty platitude or take entirely too long to dredge up from his soul and which no one was likely to want to hear and was really no one else's business.

"It was good to meet you, Rose," was what he finally decided on.

She looked up at him and offered the same small smile that was probably the most she felt capable of. "You, too," she replied. Maybe she meant it, but it didn't matter.

......................................................................................

Declining social invitations was one thing. Facing his classes again was something Andakar had no choice in. _Zhaarad_ Ahirom, the headmaster of the school he taught at in Ishval, had stopped short of calling him mentally unstable, but his accusing look was full of it. This was now his last chance. He could not fail at this. He wasn't sure how much he cared for his own sake, but he wouldn't be able to face his brother or his parents. He had made one mistake after another, acting on what he thought were honorable impulses. He had to move forward, but he would do so now with caution. The least he could do, he would do well. What he felt called to do, he would think twice about.

The world may have felt like it had tipped, but only for him. His students didn't seem any different than they had the day before. Why, after all, should they? He had made no connection with them. He took them through mathematic exercises and that was all he did. He did not touch their lives.

When he first started teaching, it was a second best, but he still aspired to be a beacon to those under his care. He wanted to open their young minds and see the world as he saw it. He wanted them to see the wonder of Ishvala's creation and those things, by extension, created by man: literature, mathematics, philosophy.

He didn't see the world like that anymore. No, that wasn't quite true. The world was there, but the way he had once seen it was for other people now and he viewed it from a distance. And he was wrong when he thought he had made no connection with his students. He had, in fact, touched the life of at least one of them. A girl who had lost her parents in a senseless act that he could have prevented. He would try to tell himself that she probably wouldn't want to know the truth, but the truth was he simply couldn't bear to tell her.

So he would go on as he had been, doing what was needful, and nurture his guilt and let it eat at him. These students would move on to the next grade and then the next and then they would be gone and that was acceptable.

Once the bell for first period rang he took roll and told his students to turn to page eighteen where they had left off the day before. He had scheduled a quiz for the next day, and he would have a better understanding of who was at what level. These students purportedly had scored higher on placement tests so were the most promising, but that wasn't always the case. Those who were participating more, like Alphonse, Winry, and Lan Fan, were obviously more invested, but others might simply be the quiet ones. There were the gregarious ones, like Ling and Paninya, who, though somewhat distracting, did not seem yet to be struggling.

Others would be harder to gauge until some tangible results were in. There was Edward, who paid attention despite a certain apathy. There was Rik, who seemed to be wanting to escape notice, possibly because his teacher was straight from Ishval and he was somehow uncomfortable with that (or perhaps Andakar was overthinking that). There was Nicolo—sorry, N.V.—who appeared to be both apathetic and desirous of escaping notice. Time and tests would tell, and he had the option of recommending that those who were struggling be transferred to a less demanding class.

They finished up the first chapter, he answered questions from those who took the trouble to ask, and he reminded them about the quiz on Friday. Several of the students groaned that they were already having quizzes in some of their other classes. Perhaps the look on his face said more than he meant it to, but even as he expressed indifference—mildly, he was sure—for their other obligations, they withdrew their objections.

The bell rang for the passing period, the students filed out of the room. Andakar closed his book, not expecting to engage with any of them, but out of the blur of moving figures in his peripheral vision, one stopped before the table he used as a lectern and he looked up. Winry Rockbell stood before him, her backpack perched on her hip and her blue eyes politely expectant.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ruhad?" she began, her tone just as polite as her expression. She was not here to accuse, no matter what the fraction of a second of unreasoning fear made him believe. Then he wondered with a measure of suspicion, which he had to admit was unworthy, what her purpose was.

He schooled his features to not let anything show. "Yes, Miss Rockbell?"

"Um…we're going to be starting this project in my history class about foreign countries, and I was wondering…" She gave a little apologetic grimace. "I mean, I know that Ishval isn't a foreign country…I mean…not anymore…and I was wondering…if it's okay…if you could recommend some good resources…I mean…" She continued on at a pace that was both rapid and halting, showing both determination and inhibition. "I know I can get whatever I want from the library or the internet, but I…I wanted to see if you…I mean, I know that sometimes history can be kind of biased 'cause it's written by the victors, you know? And I…um…I want to do this right so if there's anything that you could recommend that would be more, you know, um, _authentic_ , then I'd really appreciate it 'cause I want to do something, um, original, and…well…for other reasons…"

Her voice died away a little at the end, leaving him to speculate on what these "other reasons" might be. He was astonished, to say the least. He was also, from a strange, feral corner of his soul, terrified. What did she really want to know? Why Ishval? Wasn't that something she would want to shy away from, to say the least? Why him?

But another part of him, the one small piece he had managed to salvage, the one where he was a light in the darkness of ignorance, a scholastic mind, a teacher, raised its weary, beaten head to answer a call for help.

"I would be happy to help," he heard himself say. Would he, really? "If I had a better idea of the sort of information you would need…"

She must have thought he would be more reluctant. So did he, but he had committed himself. She perked up. "Oh, well, I was going to sort of see what I learned as I went along. I mean…I could ask Rik, you know, but he's…I mean, he knows a lot of cool stuff, and he does go to Ishval, like, once a year to visit relatives, but he was born here and he's only sort of into the culture and it's mostly the stuff that most people know about already."

Well, that explained that, Andakar supposed. "I guess what I want to find out," Winry went on, "is the stuff that most people don't know about, or don't care about, or whatever. I want to put together a picture that's…um…" She chewed on her lip in thoughtful concentration. "Looking out from the inside instead of looking in from the outside," she said quickly. Her brows furrowed. "Does that make sense?"

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to blurt it out and lay his sins before her as though she were the very stone of the altar. He nodded. "That makes admirable sense," he replied. "When is this project due?"

"Just before the winter break."

Andakar nodded. "I'll see what I can do. Are you mainly looking for printed material?"

Winry's shoulders bobbed up and down. "It doesn't have to be. Anything that I can cite as a source." She beamed a smile. "Thanks so much, Mr. Ruhad! I think you'll be proud!"

That shocked him, and that showed a little in his expression. She seemed a little surprised as well. "I mean, I promise I'll do a good job!"

"I'm sure you will." He was sure. He couldn't say exactly why, but he was. It went beyond the fact that she was a typically "good student." This, in particular, meant something to her. He wanted to ask her, to challenge her, why she said that, and he very nearly began to open his mouth, despite part of him that begged him not to. But she spoke first.

"Okay, so if you could let me know when you find stuff, that'd be really cool." She began to head for the door since the passing period was dwindling. "I mean, I'm gonna do my own research and everything," she added firmly.

"Come and see me on Monday," he said. "I'm here fairly early before school."

Winry bobbed her head. "Okay!" And with that she slipped out the door.

As she left and his second period students began to make their way in, he sat down at his desk, forcing himself to focus. He realized that his hands were shaking just a little and he clenched his fists. What had just happened, really? He was afraid to put too much emphasis on it. It was just a student asking a teacher for help, which was commonplace enough and was part of his job. But it was simply too coincidental, too uncanny. He had no doubt at all that he could supply the girl with exactly what she was looking for, much more than that, even. But he also had no doubt that he was diving into something he wasn't ready for. He almost began to sympathize with those students who felt they were being cruelly overburdened by having to take yet another quiz on the same day. But it was something they all had to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Oi, dyevushki_ =hey, girls  
>  _milen'ka_ =dearie


	8. Chapter 8

No one deserved to be that suave or good-looking. The thin, patronizing smile with which Detective Miles addressed Solf was even more infuriating. The man's smile got rather warmer when he turned to Armstrong, laying his dusky charm on thick. Olivier kept up her professional front, even though she was probably mentally using Miles to sop up her gravy. Solf didn't even try to keep the sour look off his face, even though he agreed with most of what the detective was saying, if for different reasons.

King just stood there with his usual hearty, beneficent man-aura, nodding his head.

"It's pretty much an established fact that the old programs just don't work. As soon as an adult starts preaching, a kid is just going to tune them out, and I, for one, don't blame them." Detective Miles spread his hands. "But they'll listen to each other."

AP Armstrong nodded. "You're absolutely right, Detective." Her voice was its usual firm contralto but Solf was willing to bet she was going all girly underneath. "I've heard some very good things about the peer-to-peer programs."

Solf put on a somber expression. It kept him from rolling his eyes. He had always been of the opinion that these anti-drug programs were bullshit. Personally, he got a fair amount of job satisfaction at seeing that deer-in-the-headlights look on kids when the police came to bust them for weed. He also rather enjoyed sitting back and nodding sympathetically, his fingers steepled, assuring the anguished parents that they weren't utterly miserable failures. No one, after all, could quite compare to Solf Sr.

But seriously? Kids running their own anti-drug show? "I don't know," Solf remarked. "Isn't it a little like the blind leading the blind?"

The others turned to him. Olivier's look was muted daggers, but that was nothing new. The detective's expression was a little more guarded, but subtly condescending. Solf usually let that sort of thing slide off his back, but coming from an Ishvalan it was a little much. He really wanted to punch this guy in the mouth.

"If you challenge the kids to put their own program together," Miles explained, "they will take the ball and run with it. You support them, you sponsor them, you encourage them, but you let them be in charge. It's been done, and it works."

King nodded thoughtfully. "The Reverend Cornello has a pretty successful program over at his church. The Sunshine Kids. They've got those kids singing and dancing and doing gymnastics and all kinds of stuff." He grinned. "Probably the best way to keep kids out of trouble is to keep them busy."

 _Sunshine Kids? Really? Golly gee whiz! And to think that baton twirling had nearly become a lost art!_ The credibility factor was already strained to the breaking point with the "Reverend's" faith-healing hootenannies. And the famous Silver Spire of the Church of Leto was an eyesore.

Judging by the way that cunning little smile on Miles' face gave a hint of a twitch, Solf would have sworn they were thinking the same thing, which was really, really irritating.

"Well, I can't argue with that," Miles replied diplomatically. Smooth bastard. "They're certainly enthusiastic over there. But I think you'd be surprised at the level of sophistication and originality that your students could achieve on their own."

Principal Bradley beamed a proud smile. "You know, Detective Miles, I don't think I'd be all that surprised."

Olivier nodded and favored the Ishvalan detective with a rare smile. "I'd be happy to go over any information you can provide, Detective."

On the one hand, Solf felt a measure of jealous annoyance at Olivier jumping in and hogging everything up. She tended to throw him whatever scraps she couldn't be bothered with. On the other hand, Solf couldn't be bothered with any of it.

"Sure. I'll email you some links," Miles replied. Solf was sure he saw a flicker of disappointment in Olivier's eyes, but then the detective added, "And I'll stop in next week with some literature."

Olivier practically sparkled and extended her hand. "I look forward to it."

Miles shook her hand, then King's. "Keep up the good work, Detective," the principal said, giving the Ishvalan's hand a firm grasp. "Maybe bring your partner with you next time."

"Buck?" Miles grinned. "Sure I will."

Oh great. Detective Mohawk Meatslab. Solf could hardly wait.

"Mr. Kimblee."

"Detective Miles."

Solf clasped his hand as briefly as was polite to do so. With a final wave to the office staff, who cooed like fangirls and waved back, Miles left the administration building.

The receptionist, Rhonda, who was on the phone and had missed her opportunity to gush, cast a distracted, disappointed glance toward the front doors while trying to hold a conversation, or rather, struggle with one.

"Yes, ma'am, he's…ma'am, if you could…it'll only take a minute, I promise…yes, you'll definitely get to speak to him. I just…I just have to transfer the…no, ma'am, you'll only be on hold for a few moments…yes, he's definitely here, but he's in his office right now—" The receptionist cast a harried look at Solf, who had been hoping against all hope that the call wasn't for him.

"Yes, ma'am, if you'll just stay on the line," the receptionist went on firmly, trying to wrestle for dominance, "the very next voice you hear will be Mr. Kimblee's, okay? You're welcome."

She pressed the hold button on her phone and hung up. She nailed Solf with a hard gaze, stilling him as he considered sneaking away and making himself unavailable. "Mr. Kimblee, you have a call."

"Yeah, I kind of got that," Solf murmured. He frowned a little. "Male? Female? Young? Old?"

Rhonda sighed. "Female. Middle aged. Ticked off."

"And she asked for me specifically?"

"Very specifically."

King gave a quiet chuckle, clapping Solf on the back before heading back to his office. "Nearly lunch time, Solf. You've got the first half today, remember. Don't forget your walkie-talkie this time." Which meant _whatever it is, take care of but don't be all day about it_.

"Uh-huh." Solf scowled sullenly and headed down the hall to his office, closing the door. Taking a seat behind his desk, he considered the telephone. It was only the first damn week of school. He shouldn't be getting calls from annoyed parents this soon. The best he could do was make it short and hopefully hand her on to someone else. He cleared his throat, revved up his best don't-dick-with-me-I'm-an-administrator voice, and picked up the telephone.

"This is Assistant Principal Kimblee. How can I—"

" _Eh-h_ , finally!" a woman's voice squawked. "I called your father's house and they wouldn't tell me where you were! Some snippy young woman who was probably no better than she ought to be telling me she couldn't give me your number and she wouldn't let me talk to anyone else! I'm a decent God-fearing woman, a widow, and this is how your family treats me! I should have expected as much!" She paused and made a sound like she was spitting. "I was right all along! I knew no good would come of it! But, no! Go to Central, everyone told her. You can make good money there! You can slave on your hands and knees cleaning the Amestrians' floors and their toilets and wipe the snot from their children's faces like you didn't learn a thing in school and you have no self-respect—"

Under normal circumstances, Solf would have dismissed this as a prank call. A very elaborate one, to be sure. But the more this woman ranted on, her clipped, rapid accent unmistakably Ishvalan, a deadly, niggling little thorn of an idea started burrowing into his brain through the ear that he held the telephone to.

"Excuse me, ma'am, would you please explain what you're talking about? And can you please slow down? I'm having a little trouble understanding you!"

That was what Solf meant to say, but he only got as far as "E—" before the woman plunged on.

"No, I am not finished! You people think you rule the world and poor, simple, foolish girls are just yours to have your way with and there are no consequences! You think you can just wink at the bagpipe player and get a tune! You sit in your big rich houses eating rich food and wearing rich clothes that some silly, foolish girl washed and mended for you because she thought it was a better thing to do than stay home and take care of the goats and be a decent girl! She could have gotten herself a decent husband who maybe worked as a foreman at the cement factory and have good, pure Ishvalan children. And now what? Now what, I ask you! She's gone and the child's on my hands now! I don't have—"

By this time, Solf's hands were shaking and his breathing became shallow. "Would you shut _up_ for a minute!" he managed in a furious hiss.

"How—"

"No!" Solf snapped, struggling to keep his voice from shaking. "No, lady! You need to just calm your—yourself down and explain to me exactly what the point of this call is. What do you mean, she's _gone_?"

The woman puffed out an exasperated breath. "Two weeks ago! Two weeks I've been trying to find you!"

Solf squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead so his brain wouldn't slurp out from the fissure that was threatening to crack open. "What," he growled between his teeth, "happened?"

"She went out to gather cactus pads so she wouldn't have to buy them at the market. I told her I'd give her the money but she was too proud and she wouldn't listen to me so off she went—"

" _What happened_?" Solf no longer cared that he was in a building full of people who could hear him.

"Don't you raise your voice at me, _lahaat_! I'm telling you that she went out into the desert by herself to gather cactus pads and she was bitten by a brown viper. She couldn't make it back on her own. One of the dogs found her. By the time her brothers found her and carried her back, she was too far gone. The doctors couldn't do anything. So now my daughter is dead!"

The woman actually paused, waiting for his reaction, and it got very quiet. He wasn't even sure what sort of reaction he should have. Part of him wanted to pull a Solf Sr. and tell her to kiss his ass, kiss his lawyer's ass, there wasn't enough money in the world to take him to court with, etc., or just hang up the phone. But something else, something perversely latent in his brain made him go on.

"S-so when did this happen?"

"I told you! Two weeks ago! I only just found you today but even if I'd gotten a hold of you in time, I still wouldn't have had you come for the funeral. You've caused enough trouble! I didn't want to see you! I never want to see you! It's bad enough I have to look at the child but not for long! You need to take her!"

Solf's mouth swung open like the entrance to Central Station and nearly got stuck. "I…I…what?...no!...I will _not_! I sent her money, didn't I?"

"Oh, yes? Money? You know what that's called, don't you? My daughter might not have been very clever, but she was a good girl until she met you!"

"She could've slept with someone else!" There was desperation in his voice now. "How do you even know if it was me?"

"Oh, I know, all right!" She sounded outrageously smug. "Besides, like I said, she wasn't very clever, but she was not a liar! You'll—"

Solf dropped the receiver back in its cradle and then snatched his hand away as if he'd unwittingly picked up a venomous creature. He pointedly looked away, willing the whole past several minutes out of existence. The lunch bell rang and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He stared at the door, wondering if there was a whole crowd of people with their ears pressed to the other side of it. There was nothing he could do about that now. If they talked about him behind his back, it would be behind his back and hopefully he wouldn't hear them.

He had to get out of there and get back into his world, the one that made sense and where he made lots of money that he only had to spend on himself and where he had a nice car and a luxury apartment and vacations in the Donbachi Riviera which, being two countries away, sounded really, really good right now. He pushed himself out of his chair and headed for the door, grabbing his walkie-talkie on the way.

There was no one in the hallway and the sounds from the lobby sounded like they always did. He turned the other way to head out to the cafeteria. He made his way through the double doors, dodging kids as they scurried past him to get into line or to find a table to sit at. Most of them slowed warily when they saw him, but he took hardly any notice of them. The noise level inside the multi-purpose room was just as high as it always was, but it seemed muted, drowned out by the roaring in his head that was searching desperately for equilibrium.

If he kept telling himself that it would go away and the longer he could pretend that the phone call never happened then it would eventually cease to exist and he'd be all right. He could go on with his life. Maybe he'd even get involved with this new anti-drug thing and he could feel virtuous and good about himself and keep his dark, nasty secrets back in the dark, nasty vault he kept them locked in.

He glanced up at the clock up on the wall and was stunned to see that ten minutes had already gone by. That was good. Ten minutes was a pretty good cushion. His heart stopped beating so fast and he felt a little better. He might even go in and see what they were serving today.

.................................................................................

"Isn't that a little creepy?"

"It's Mr. Kimblee. He's always creepy."

"Yeah, but he usually creeps on us." Ed stirred his macaroni and cheese, which he had managed to get before it had started to congeal. His mouth pulled down in a puzzled scowl. "He kind of looks like he's got something creeping him."

"Well, don't stare at him," Lan Fan warned. "He's kind of a sociopath as it is."

Paninya kept her attention on her salad but glanced warily at the AP, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Totally."

Rik gave a low chuckle. "He looks like he's got a _jhavahal_ on his shoulder."

"A what?" Ling demanded.

Rik grinned. "It's something my _djaari_ told me about once. It's this little demon thing. If you've done something really bad and you're trying to keep it a secret or you lie about it, the _jhavahal_ clamps onto your shoulder and it just gets bigger and bigger the longer you keep lying and then it eats you."

"Dude, you come up with the coolest stuff!" Alphonse remarked with a laugh.

"I would totally pay money to see that happen," Ling said, casting a quick look over his shoulder at Mr. Kimblee. "I wonder how long it'd—"

Mr. Kimblee, who stood several tables away, gave a start as his radio let out a squawk. Ling turned away quickly with a nervous laugh. "Okay, never mind!" He leaned forward a little. "What's happening?" he whispered.

Rik looked past him to keep an eye on Mr. Kimblee while trying to not look like he doing so. "He's just talking on his two-way."

Winry took a drink from her milk carton. "He looks kind of upset."

"Maybe the _jhavahal's_ got his number," Paninya suggested.

"Somebody does," Alphonse agreed.

Ed scoffed. "Geez, you know what? That guy's old man is so loaded, he could buy himself out of trouble."

"Oh, hey!" Rik gave a little start. "There he goes!"

"Huh." Lan Fan watched the AP as he made his way across the cafeteria, looking a little stunned. "Dead man walking?"

"Lunch time for the _jhavahal_ ," Rik said, grabbing a chicken nugget and stuffing it into his mouth. "Om nom nom!"

The others laughed a little, but then they sobered. "Maybe he's gonna get fired," Paninya said.

"Oh, he probably just forgot to do something and Ms. Armstrong is gonna chew him out," Winry said with a shrug. "She can be kind of scary, but she's awesome."

That was an opinion they all shared and they all nodded in solemn agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _lahaat_ =boy, lad, son
> 
>  _Eh-h!_ is a sound my Ishvalans make to express a number of things like amazement, indignation, or sarcasm. It involves a swooping up of the voice.


	9. Chapter 9

"Close the door, Solf." King spoke in that somber, patriarchal tone that made it sound like Solf was the son chosen to be sacrificed for the survival of the rest of the village.

Solf tried to keep it easy, acting like he had no clue. He parked himself in a chair. "What's up?"

King sat back, looking troubled and concerned. "I just spoke to a lady who…ah…how shall I put this? She had a story to tell."

Solf felt the blood drain from his face. "Uh-huh?"

"The thing is, I've heard this story before, or part of it, anyway. You might say I just got the second installment." King smiled a thin smile which was probably meant to be sympathetic but didn't have all that much effort put into it.

Solf gave up on trying to be casual. "I can explain—"

King held up his hand. "Now, Solf, I understand. After all, boys will be boys." His smile now reminded Solf of a shark he's seen at an aquarium on one of his last vacations. But he recognized a straw worth clutching at.

He shrugged helplessly. "I was a kid, King! I didn't know what I was doing!"

"You were nineteen, according to your dad," King scolded gently. "You should have had a pretty good grasp of the birds and the bees by then."

Well, it would figure that Solf Sr. had told King about it in all its sordid glory, which meant that he probably had been given a pretty warped version.

Solf was nearly squirming in his seat, but he kept his gaze steady. "It was a long time ago," he said stiffly. "And it was mutual."

"Hm," King mused. "To hear your father tell it, the girl batted her eyes at you and you fell for it."

Well, that was true and it wasn't. He could have played it up, but Solf didn't think he would be able to convince anyone that he was the victim.

During his sophomore year at Central U, someone on the household staff hired an additional daytime maid. The girl was Isvhalan and his father wouldn't normally have approved a decision like that. Solf was a little surprised, but only peripherally. Maybe she came cheap. She was also young and pretty. Maybe Solf Sr. figured his son would still be too exhausted from finals and partying or just too stoned to notice. But he did. Maybe his father figured since the girl was Ishvalan, Solf wouldn't be interested. He wasn't. At least, not at first.

He spent very little time at home. During the day he's be in class, and unless he absolutely had to study at night, he'd attach himself to other people's parties. He tried to spend as little time around his father as he could manage. So he didn't even meet the girl until she'd been employed for several weeks. He had come home unexpectedly during the day and found her tidying his room. She got all flustered, blushed, and scurried off, leaving a memory of dimples and rose-scented soap.

He slept the rest of the afternoon and went out again that evening. When he came home the next day, his room was all tidy again. He liked that. He took it for granted that his room would always be cleaned, but for some reason he liked that it was her. She did it like she enjoyed it. Her name was Zamfyra. He started making a point to spend more time at home when she was around. After about a month he asked her out. He had never done that with any of the staff before, but they had mostly been older, or married, or not particularly attractive, or just "the staff." Zamfyra was a little scandalized and turned him down, saying it really wasn't proper. But he tended to get what he wanted, and he coaxed her into just dinner and a movie. He didn't tell his father and he cautioned her to keep it on the low. She seemed to understand.

He picked her up from a slightly run-down apartment complex where she lived with a couple of other girls. Apparently she took the bus to work every morning and home every evening. He took her to a restaurant where no one was likely to recognize him and then to a movie theater that he'd never been to before. It was actually a fairly nice evening. She was ever so slightly air-headed, but just enough to be cute rather than tiresome. He took her home, saw her to her door, and left.

They went out a few more times. Then his father went on a business trip that coincided with spring break. Solf brought Zamfyra back to his room. She was scared at first, but she was endearingly, if a little pathetically trusting, and he was very persuasive. After that it got a lot easier. It meant a lot more to her than it did to him, but he had to admit, it was a really pleasant week. He managed to ignore the fact that he really looked forward to seeing her every day, telling himself it was just lust.

By the time he started getting worried that things might be getting complicated, his father came home early and caught them in flagrante bare-assed delicto. He fired Zamfyra on the spot, ordering her to leave that instant. He didn't even leave the room while she tried to hastily gather up her clothes, sobbing and apologizing. Solf just sat there, mute. He got his car taken away from him for the rest of the semester, which sucked. He had to bum rides off his friend Grey.

He never saw her again, but about a year later, she called him. The spring semester of a less than glorious junior year had started. His father was out and one of his secretaries fielded the call. She told him that she missed him and that she was very sorry for getting him in trouble. He had pretty much gotten over it, but he thought it was kind of sweet. Then she told him that she'd had a baby and it wasn't so sweet anymore. She was going to very sweetly blackmail him, he was sure.

But she didn't. She just wanted him to know. The baby, a little girl, was very pretty, she said, and her name was Danika. He'd be so proud. Her family was furious with her, but she had stood up to them. She asked him if he would like a picture of her. _What, are you crazy? Hell no!_ Sure, that'd be nice. He gave her the address of a P.O. box he kept near the university so her mail wouldn't come to the house. It was weeks before he ventured to check for the letter, and he never opened it. He considered throwing it away, but for some reason he just stuck it in a box in his closet.

She called him a few times after that, just to update him on Danika's progress. Eventually he told her—lied to her—that his father found out she'd been calling and had threatened dire consequences. He sent her a check—a cashier's check—for a decent amount. She wrote him back thanking him profusely and remembering him with great tenderness. After that he stopped communicating with her, hoping she'd get the hint. She must have. It took him a while to put the incident behind him and stop worrying about any repercussions, but eventually he did. Eventually he managed to forget the whole thing. He was good at that.

And now she was dead. He wasn't even sure how he should feel because at the moment he was too frantically terrified about how his life was about to be impacted.

"This lady, Mrs. Kafik," King went on, "is understandably upset. I calmed her down as much as I could and I told her I would talk to you."

Solf swallowed, his mouth and throat dry. "I…I sent money…"

"You know, Solf, there are some problems that you just can't throw money at," King said, his voice getting a sterner edge. "The thing is, I don't want this getting any further up the line, like the superintendent's office." His brows furrowed with magnificent allfather righteousness. "Like I said, boys will be boys, but at some point those boys need to man up and take responsibility for their actions."

Solf stared at him through a haze of disbelief. "Uh…what…what are you saying?"

King let out a breathy sort of chuckle like _you really don't get it, do you_? "I'm saying that you need to live up to your obligations. You need to send for that girl." He smiled as though it wasn't the end of the world. "Being a dad is a pretty awesome gig, Solf."

"I'm not a _dad_!" Solf blurted out in a panic that he couldn't hide anymore. "There's no proof that this kid is even mine!"

King shrugged. "From what Mrs. Kafik says, it sounds pretty clear. You can have a paternity test done, but I do not want any scandal to touch this school. I've been in charge here for seventeen years and not only have we maintained our A-plus rating, we have a spotless record, barring a few miscreant students smoking the marijuana. But there's never been any of the garbage that some of the other schools have gotten in trouble for. Affairs between teachers and even between teachers and students! It makes me sick! So I am not going to let this woman, who is really within her rights to do so, raise a stink over the behavior of one of my APs!"

It suddenly got kind of chilly in that office. Solf could barely meet King's good eye and it was like a cold, hard nail. This wasn't "Uncle" King anymore. This was King "Skull Crusher" Bradley, ex-special-forces-trained-to-kill-try-coming-for-my-other-eye-you-bastards-Commander Bradley. Solf could only imagine the impact two eyes would have had.

"You need to take care of this," King said. "And you need to do it right." His smile returned a little, avuncular and wise. "I think it would actually be pretty nice to have her as a student here."

_"What_?" Solf squeaked. "I mean…I mean…I…is she even…you know…old enough?"

King regarded him with sad patience. "Well, do the math. You're, what, thirty-four? Thirty-five? That'd make her about fourteen or fifteen. She's in tenth grade out there in Ishval."

"But…shouldn't she…uh…stay with her own…her own people…"

"Solf, you're not listening to me!" King leaned forward and stabbed at the top of his desk. "Her mother's family doesn't want her! It's a shame, but there it is. They're a funny people, especially the ones who live out in the boondocks like this family apparently does. She's a poor, mixed-race kid who needs a home. I want you to send for your daughter, we'll get her registered for school here, and we're going to act like it's the most natural thing in the world because I expect a certain level of integrity from my faculty and staff! Anyone who can't live up to those standards doesn't belong here. Do I make myself clear?"

Well, that was the bottom line. He closed his eyes in defeat. "All right, King." Then his eyes flew open as he started thinking a little ahead. "What are people going to say? I mean, what do I tell people?"

King shrugged again like it would be easy or like it simply wasn't his problem. "Tell them the truth, Solf. You made a few bad choices in your youth but now you're trying to make up for them. If you want to play up the fact that your father separated you two, that wouldn't be stretching the truth too much." He smiled encouragingly. "If you need any parenting advice, you know where to find me."

_Oh. Thanks so much_. Solf stood up slowly, feeling his knees wobble a little. There were few times in his life when he felt quite so debased. Then he froze. "Uh, King, I'd…uh…rather my father didn't find out about this."

"Oh?" King seemed a little surprised. _Really, King_? "Well, if you say so."

"I do. I can't even imagine how he'd react. I don't want to imagine." This was so unfair. He was being crushed to death between a rock and a hard place. He drew himself and his last little shreds of dignity up as far as he could get them. "I know you and my dad are buddies, but if I do this, King, I'd like you to promise me that you won't tell him."

King considered him for a moment, then gave a nod. "All right, Solf. I'm not quite sure how long you can keep it from him, but I promise you that he won't hear it from me."

"You're really the only person I work with that he associates with," Solf replied. He lifted his shoulders wearily. "I'll worry about the rest of it."

"Good! If you'd prefer, I'll communicate with the grandmother myself as far as the arrangements for getting the girl out here, and I'll let you know when you need to get her from the station. I already advised Mrs. Kafik to send the transcripts straight here. We'll get Danika registered in time to start school next week." King rose to his feet. "Go ahead and take tomorrow off to get your spare room ready for her or whatever you need to do." He went around his desk to clap Solf on the back with a hearty grin. "Someday you'll look back on this and wonder how you could have ever done otherwise."

Solf doubted that very much. He tended to avoid looking back on his life.


	10. Chapter 10

Andakar's eyes scanned the bookcases that lined the apartment walls. Some were actually set into the walls. These apartments had been built back in a day when that sort of amenity was important. But even those weren't enough for Mattas' collection and he had to supplement the built-in shelves with ordinary do-it-yourself kits from the local home improvement center. Many languages, modern and ancient, were represented here. History, literature, philosophy, theology, art, music. Mattas had always been hungry for knowledge. Even as a boy, any money he acquired he spent on books.

Andakar had his own considerable collection, although not as large as this. For the moment, they were still in boxes.

"Mattas?" he called out.

His brother was in the kitchen, checking the progress of a pot of soup. He appeared at the door. "Yes?"

"I'd like to get some more of these bookcases, if that's all right."

Mattas was silent for a moment and Andakar turned to look at him to see if he was still there. "What?"

Mattas just smiled. "You sounded…well, not excited, exactly. You sound like you're…taking an interest in life."

Andakar frowned a little impatiently and turned back to look over another shelf of books. "If you say so."

He heard Mattas give a quiet snort. "What are you looking for?"

"I'll know when I find it." He took a book from the shelf and opened it. It was a reprint of a work of an ancient Ishvalan chronicler. He held it up. "Do you have a translation of this?"

Mattas joined him and glanced at the book. "Why? You can read the Old Tongue."

"It's not for me. It's for one of my students."

"Uh…you're teaching math, right?"

"It's not for my class. I was asked for material on Ishval that would not be normally available."

"Oh." Mattas lifted his eyebrows. "That's kind of impressive."

"That's what I thought." Andakar had thought a lot of other things, too, but he wasn't going to say them out loud. He contemplated the book in his hand. "I suppose I could translate it. Some of it, anyway."

Mattas started skimming over his library as well. "Here." He took down a book from an upper shelf and held it out. "You could translate some of these."

Andakar took the book from him. It was a collection of poetry by the eleventh century poet and priest, Rihir. "I'm not sure Amestrian could do them justice." He flipped through some of the pages. "This used to be Father's. I wondered where it had gone."

"He gave it to me when I moved out here. Oh, hey!" Mattas bent down and took a book bound in official-looking maroon leather. "Maybe he could use this."

"She," Andakar corrected him. He tucked the first two books under his arm and took this one. It was Mattas' master's thesis on the impact that ninth century trade between Ishval and Xing had on those countries' respective languages.

"It might be a little dry," Mattas admitted. "But I'm pleased with it."

Andakar tucked that one under his arm as well. "I'll let her decide what she can use." He looked over the bindings before him and his initial burst of enthusiasm, such as it was, began to fade.

,em>Why Ishval? he asked himself again.

"What's the matter?" Mattas asked.

"Hm?" Andakar shook his head. "Nothing's the matter."

"I don't know. You were really into this, and then you kind of faded out for a minute."

A little exasperated, Andakar took another book off the shelf just to have something to look at. "I don't need constant monitoring, Mattas. I'm not a lab rat."

Mattas chuckled. "Okay. Fair enough." He folded his arms. "So tell me more about this student. She's doing a project on Ishval? History class?"

"Yes." Andakar put the book back and drew out another one. "She's…"

He hadn't realized how long he had fallen silent until Mattas spoke. "She's what?"

Mattas wasn't just trying to remind him to finish his thought, but to gently prompt him into explaining why he hadn't. Part of him wanted to let it all spill out. Why was this girl so interested in Ishval? Was it because her parents had gone there? Because they had died there? Was it in spite of the fact that they had died there?

_Did she know?_

Even he knew that was entering the realm of paranoia, which was not something he was ready to share with his brother, who would worry too much. "She's anxious to do a good job on this project."

Mattas shrugged. Andakar could tell he had the feeling that an issue had just been skirted around, but he let it go. "Well, why shouldn't she? It's for school."

"This is high school, Mattas. What's more, it's Amestrian high school. Even at the college level, you must see the differences in attitudes toward education between here and home."

Mattas made a non-committal sound. "A good student is a good student."

"There are students who are just good at getting right answers," Andakar replied. "And there are students who are genuinely eager for knowledge."

"Fine. I concede your point," Mattas said with a grin. He bent down to a bottom shelf. "Let her take a look at this. Just tell her to be careful with it."

He handed Andakar a vintage binding of a collection of Old Ishvalan fables. It would also need translating, but the illustrations were works of art. This had been one of their favorite books when they were little. Their father would read one story out of it every night before they went to bed, and once he read the last one, they would start from the beginning the next night. Andakar had nearly forgotten about it. It brought back a flood of memories and impressions from his childhood, back when these stories fed the dreams and desires that he already could barely contain. Sometimes he wouldn't even be able to fall asleep, he was so excited.

He wanted to be a hero.

He closed the book, locking away memories that had no place in his life right now. He stacked the books together. "This should get her started."

..............................................................................................................

"Solf! My man! What's up?"

Solf had opted to call Grey's cell phone rather than the restaurant's phone. Roa, the head waiter, would have given him a hard time, and the fewer people he had to talk to, the better.

"Hey." He gazed up at his ceiling from his supine position on the couch that he'd maintained for the past forty-five minutes. "Does my old man have reservations for tonight?"

"He does indeed. You want me to set an extra plate?" He could hear Grey's smirk.

"No. Definitely not. I just wanted to see if he was going to be there so I could avoid the place like the plague."

"That hurts, man."

"Sorry. Otherwise I would totally be there."

"Ah. You got a hot date?"

Solf glared up at the warm paneled ceiling above him. He apparently had a long-standing date with destiny that he had been putting off for years and she was now one ravenous bitch. "No. I just wanted to sit at your bar."

"Really? Bro, it's Thursday. You gonna get trashed on a school night?"

"I got tomorrow off, so, yeah. And I sure as hell don't wanna be anywhere my dad is."

"'S'cool." There were a few moments of silence that Solf didn't have the energy to fill. "You… got something on your mind?"

"Yeah, and I don't really want to talk about it. I figured I'd just poison it with alcohol."

Grey chuckled. "That don't work, amico. That shit rises up from the dead and it's all zombie mode and ugly. Kinda like you're gonna be in the morning."

"Well, I'm not out to impress anybody. I'm just planning on having a 'me' day."

"Oh, yeah? Solf, every day is a 'you' day."

Solf did not appreciate Grey's humor at the moment and he sneered at his phone in preparation to hanging it up. Then he put it back to his ear. "Where's a good place?"

"Oh, fine! You want me to endorse the competition? I ain't runnin' a charity here."

"Fine. Have a nice life."

"No, wait, wait, wait! I'm just playin'! You lookin' for a place that's got a decent bar where everyone knows your name and they're glad you came—"

"Uh, yeah, no," Solf said firmly.

"Okay." Grey laughed quietly. "Well, like I said, it's Thursday, so places won't be too crowded. Just the usual bar flies. There's that biker place over there by the stadium…I can tell by your stony silence that that's a no. Oh, hey, there's The Chateau. Kind of a fancy-ass name for a pub, but it's basically a pub. The food's good, too. I'd join you if I wasn't busy."

Solf groaned. "No. I know that place. It's kind of too much of a 'family' atmosphere and I seriously don't want to be anywhere where there's kids. Plus, it's run by someone who's related to someone I work with."

"Yeah, actually, I knew that, but I figured since it was a school night, your fine colleagues won't be out getting a jump on the weekend. And there won't be any kids sitting at the bar. Chris Mustang is actually a pretty down girl for an old lady. She's also got some pretty hot waitresses."

Solf could really not care less about hot waitresses as the moment, but he was starting to get restless and he really didn't want to be here. "Fine."

"Still, you know where to find me."

"Uh-huh." For a moment, Solf nearly gave into the temptation to spill everything into a sympathetic ear, but it was entirely too humiliating. Also, even though Grey was the closest thing he had to a friend, the man still treated information as a commodity. He somehow seemed to know everything about everybody. This was just a little too sensitive for the likes of him. "Thanks. Later."

...............................................................................................

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…"

Chris Mustang chuckled huskily and charitably left the rest unsaid. Solf had actually gotten through his first jack and coke before she sidled up to the corner of the bar he intended to occupy for the evening.

"It's a school night, you know."

"Not for me, it isn't," Solf replied.

He had to admit, he liked it here. It was neither highbrow nor lowbrow. He avoided it on weekends when Roy and Maes and their clique and a whole lot of other people descended upon the place. During the week he either couldn't indulge too much or he was at his father's for dinner.

Chris lifted a penciled brow. "Oh? Lucky you. Taking a long weekend?"

"The longest." Solf slid his empty glass toward her. "Same again."

Chris took his glass and started up another with her own hands. "You look down, sweetie. Life kicked you in the nads? Daddy giving you a hard time?"

Solf sighed. Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea. Some people seemed to know a little too much about him. "Just stuff," he mumbled.

Chris gave his glass a more generous splash of bourbon that the other bartender had. "There's stuff and there's stuff."

She topped off the glass with coke and slid it toward him, but she held on to it as he tried to pull it closer. He gave her a puzzled glare.

"Do you know, I could have been your mother," she said in a casual tone that didn't quite fit what she said.

Solf stared at her. "Sorry?"

Chris let go of the glass and waved her hand. "Don't be. I'm not. Your father and I were pretty hot a very, very long time ago."

Solf wasn't sure he wanted to know that. "I'm not sure I wanted to know that."

"Just something for the history books, sweetie. The ones they don't print." She raised her shoulders. "But he craved money and prestige more than anything else and that gets old after a while."

"It's better than nothing."

"Maybe. I don't regret dumping him. No offense, sweetie."

"None taken, believe me." He hoped she would go away and see to her other customers, but she stayed there, contemplating him, which was a little hard to ignore. "Um, no offense, sweetie, but I came here for some solitary misery nursing."

"I can see that."

"Okay…so…"

"Oh, honey, don't you know misery loves company?" Chris said with a coaxing smile. "I'm an old-fashioned bartender. I have a degree in Woe Management and Take-It-To-My-Grave-Discretion. Come on! Dish!"

"No!" Solf retorted petulantly. "This is personal!"

Chris shrugged and waved a hand. "Suit yourself."

She began to move away and as she did Solf experienced a feeling like watching the last rescue helicopter flying away as he sat on the roof of a house surrounded by rising flood waters. He took a quick glance around the bar. There were only about a half dozen faces around there and none of them were familiar.

Even as he wondered why the hell he was doing so, he began, sounding louder and more desperate than he meant to, "I've got—"

Chris sidled back, making it look like she was tidying that potion of the bar. "Yes?" she prompted quietly.

Solf lowered his voice. "I've got—or I've been told that I've got—a kid."

The towel wiping the bar counter stilled for a moment and Chris' head nodded slightly. "Oh." She smiled. "Congratulations!"

"Uh, no." Solf scowled "This is not a good thing."

"I see." Chris cast him a somewhat less than sympathetic look. "So what makes your situation any worse than any other baby daddy?"

Solf stared at her, outraged. "I am _not_ a baby daddy!" he hissed. "I'm not even convinced it—she—is mine!"

"There are tests, you know."

"Yeah, well…" Solf picked up his drink with a nod of certainty. "You can bet that's the first thing I'm doing when she gets here."

"Hm. What sort of relationship do you have with the mother?"

"Non-existent," Solf muttered. "She died a couple of weeks ago and her family's dumping the kid on me."

Chris's eyes widened. She glanced around her, noting that the other patrons were clustered at the other end of the bar, watching whatever sports spectacular was on the television. Then she leaned closer to Solf. "Okay, this isn't even remotely light-hearted gossip anymore. This is serious shit. You mean to tell me that there's a child out there that nobody wants and you're whining about having to nut up and do something out of the goodness of your heart or at least out of the considerable depth of your wallet to help this poor child out?" Her eyes narrowed. "I oughta kick you outta my bar, you worm!"

Solf gaped at her. "Excuse me?"

"My daddy bailed on us when I was twelve so you'll have to forgive me if I don't cry in your beer with you," Chris said, the heat of her rant having cooled. "Has it occurred to you to stop thinking of this as a personal dilemma and starting thinking about it as taking a moral stand?"

Solf threw his hands up. "Why is everybody getting up my ass about morals? I don't even have a choice to make because my job is on the line! You know what?" He slid off the bar stool. "I'm outta here. What's my tab?"

"Oh, sit down, you big baby!" Chris scolded. "Believe it or not, I know what you're going through."

"Bullshit!" Solf muttered.

"No, no. That's the straight up truth. My nephew was thrust on my hands when he was six years old and I had not the slightest idea what to do with him."

Solf paused, intrigued. "Really?" He was hardly close enough to Roy, or any of his co-workers for that matter, to be privy to intimate details of their lives. He sat back down. "I didn't know that."

"Oh, yes. And let me tell you, it was awkward," Chris went on. "At the time I was running an agency that offered certain intimate solutions. That's what it was called, actually. Intimate Solutions. Sounds like I was selling underwear."

"No shit?" Solf grinned. "You were a pimp?"

"Certainly _not_!" Chris snapped. "I took meticulous care of my ladies! I ran a very clean, very discreet, very high class escort service. I made sure my people had medical benefits and paid vacations. But…" she sighed. "I did sort of feel just a little bit dirty after so many years. So I switched from escorts to Demon Rum." She spread her arms. Then she gave a soft, nostalgic laugh. "But you know, I suppose I did already have a certain maternal instinct. I was always available to my ladies with a shoulder to cry on. So when Roy came along it ended up being not so much of a stretch."

"Well…" Solf pulled his drink back toward himself. "As awesomely heartwarming as that story was, it doesn't really do me any good."

Chris rolled her eyes. "'Cause it's all about you, of course. Listen, Solfie—"

"Don't call me that! Makes me sound like a poodle."

Chris smiled, leaving Solf to wonder what sort of picture she was conjuring up in her head. "I'm not sure what it is you want me to tell you, hon. I am certainly not going to suggest a way out. I will tell you that all you can do is your best."

"Wow. Thanks." Solf pressed the cold glass to his forehead. "You know, the longer this sinks in, the—" He drained his glass and stood up. "Forget it."

"The more scared you get."

Solf stilled. Chris regarded him with the look of some ancient goddess of fate. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?"

"Tch!" Solf took some cash out of his wallet and set it on the counter. He didn't want to wait around to sign any charge slips. "That was totally not what I was going to say." He turned and walked out.

That was totally what he was going to say.


	11. Chapter 11

Central Station took up two city blocks. Rail was still the preferred method of travel within Amestris. The station was a testament to Art Deco architecture at its monolithic best. It had replaced the Industrial Revolution Neo-Baroque structure that had stood for decades before because why hang on to a hideously ugly building if you can replace it with an even more hideously ugly building?

The train that was coming from Ishval was due in at 10:37 and the Amestrian National Railway Company prided itself on people being able to set their watches by their trains. Solf stood apart from the other people waiting under the covered area of the platform. He had gotten here at 10:30, not wanting to be waiting around for too long. He kept looking around to see if there was anyone he recognized or who might recognize him. He kept his sunglasses on, just in case.

As he waited, he simmered with anger and indignation at the situation he'd been strong-armed into. It made him even more determined, at the very first opportunity, to have a paternity test done. He'd even checked the internet to find a place that was well on the other side of the city. If, as he desperately hoped, the test proved conclusively that he was not in any way, shape, or form, related to this kid, she was going back on the next train outta here, accompanied by a scathing note to Grandma, telling her to find some other hapless mook to screw over.

If she kicked up a fuss, he would threaten to take her to court, or worse, dare her to show her face on one of those daytime television shows where some miserable specimen of trailer trash is adamant that little Bobby Jo Jasper ain't his kid, he don't look nuthin' like him, his woman was sleepin' with some other dude back then, et cetera, et cetera. Chairs would be thrown, tears would be shed, the audience reactions would be censored for television. It would be kind of glorious in a sordid, low-class way. Not a place where an Ishvalan granny would want to be seen.

_"The Sunrise Limited, westbound from East City, Resembool, Ishval, and points east, now arriving at Platform Number Five!"_

The loudspeaker blared out the announcement again in case anyone didn't understand the distorted, garbled message the first time. Others who had been waiting for the train to arrive, some to board and some to meet passengers, moved forward as the approaching engine could now be heard.

Solf adjusted his sunglasses and hunched up his shoulders like he was cold. He wished he'd brought a hat. It occurred to him in a moment of panic that he didn't actually know who to look for. An Ishvalan teenager, that was about all he knew. This train was coming from Ishval, among other places. There could be any number of Ishvalan teenagers getting off at Central for all he knew. They all looked pretty much alike to him. He didn't want to start questioning them all as they got off the train. And he sure as hell wasn't going to stand there holding a sign.

Heralded by a clanging bell signaling its approach, the huge engine came into sight, curving around the turn at the end of the platform like a ponderous snake. The engine and its cars were silver with green and white stripes edging the windows. The wheels rumbled and the brakes squealed. A green-uniformed conductor leaned out of one of the windows. The engine slowed to a stop at the far end of the platform and the doors began to open. After a few moments, riders began to step down from the passenger cars, carrying small bags or backpacks. There were a few Ishvalans among those stepping onto the platform, but they were adults or adults with small children.

Solf kept under the covered area, scanning the platform right and left, becoming increasingly irritated. Was she even on this train? An Ishvalan girl who looked to be in her teens stepped down and Solf's stomach lurched. But then the girl was followed closely by a young man and they headed away from the train, hand in hand. Maybe that was her and she found herself a date and Solf wouldn't have to worry about her at all. That, he realized, was unlikely.

It took some time for the all the passengers to alight. It was a big train and this was Central Station, after all, so there was quite a crowd. As it looked like the last of them were trickling out, a girl carrying a beat-up suitcase that looked like it was being held together with duct tape stepped out of the train. She turned and waved at the conductor as he leaned out of the door and waved back. Then she paused on the platform and looked around.

Solf stared. He took off his sunglasses. A chill clutched at his insides. He knew in an instant that there would be no paternity test. There would be no daytime television spot with tears, thrown chairs or other histrionics.

She wasn't very tall, but standing next to a huge train car made most people look short. She was wearing a frumpy dress that wouldn't have looked out of place in some poor-farm-girl-comes-to-the-big-city film. Her skin had the tawny hue of any Ishvalan. But her hair, worn in two long braided plaits, was black as ebony. Her eyes were as blue as a spring sky and they searched the platform, growing a little anxious as everyone began to make their way into the station, leaving her by herself.

It might simply have been coincidence. He still wanted to be proven wrong. But he knew in the depths of his soul, an area he didn't explore much, that he was looking at the fruit of his very own loins. He wanted to turn around and run. But he stepped out of the shadows, his feet moving heavily.

He didn't want to call her name. That would make it too real. He could just be hallucinating and she would disappear any minute. His windpipe felt like it was closing up and he had to clear his throat. The girl looked around quickly for the source of the sound and then she saw him. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened. With her pathetic suitcase bumping against her leg and making her walk funny, she moved hesitantly toward him. Her lips moved a couple of times, like she wasn't sure what shape to give them, but finally she called out softly.

"Father?"

"Uh…" What was he supposed to say? For several moments, he couldn't even remember what her name was. Then, as though someone whispered it impatiently into his ear, he said, "Danika?"

The girl stepped closer and a smile began to grow on her face, but it sort of faltered, as though a smile was too presumptuous. It was replaced by a look of awed wonder. She set her suitcase on the ground and she held out her hand in a tentative gesture.

"Uh, yeah," Solf murmured. "Welcome to Central City."

He held out his hand and she took it, but instead of shaking it, she bowed and touched the back of it to her forehead.

"What the hell!" Solf snatched his hand away.

Danika jumped like she'd been bitten. Then she looked mortified. "I—I'm sorry, Father! I—I meant to show respect—"

"Oh…uh…okay…well, you don't have to do that, okay?" Solf looked around quickly to check if anyone had noticed.

"I'm sorry!" She sounded miserable, like she had one chance to do something right and she blew it.

"Forget about it," Solf said quickly. "How much more luggage do you have?

Danika grasped the handle of her suitcase. Solf expected it to fall off any minute. "Just this," she said.

Solf regarded the suitcase, trying to imagine a matched set. "That's it? Are you…did you…uh… leave stuff back in Ishval?"

Danika shook her head. "These are all my things."

Judging by what she was wearing, Solf had to wonder what other fashion disasters she might be smuggling into the trendier areas of Central City. "Well…let's…uh…hit the road." He started turning away then paused to consider the girl's suitcase. He didn't really want to touch it. "Let me take that."

Danika nodded and held it up for him to take. He thought it might be heavier, since it apparently contained off of her worldly possessions. He headed back through the station and out to the parking lot at a fast clip—you never knew who might be taking a weekend trip—and Danika had to hurry to keep up with him. Now he wished he hadn't parked so far out. He had wanted to be able to get two spaces next to each other so no one would ding his car.

They finally got to the car and Solf couldn't help feeling a little smug at the soft, awestruck breath Danika drew in at the sight of his gleaming black RX8. He popped open the trunk and put the suitcase in it—he did not want that thing on his upholstery. Moving around to the driver's side, he noticed a slip of paper tucked under one of the windshield wipers and he plucked it out and glanced at it. Nice parking job, asshole. He crumpled it up and tossed it on the ground. He unlocked the doors and got in the driver's side. Danika opened the passenger door with delicate caution and got in. She sat back in her seat and then reached for the seatbelt as an afterthought and secured it. Then she gazed around at the exterior of the car in wonder. It was kind of gratifying.

Then it got awkward again. Solf started up the car, backed out of the two parking spaces he'd taken up, and drove out into the street. His playlist issued from the stereo speakers, but otherwise it was silent. It got even more awkward when he glanced out the corner of his eye a couple of times and caught Danika surreptitiously watching him. Her cheeks turned pink—which was not as hard to notice on an Ishvalan as Solf would have thought—and she looked away quickly.

"What?" he finally asked, a little suspicious.

Danika gave a guilty little start. "I—what?"

_Oh, this is starting out just great. _"That's what I asked you! You were looking at me."__

__"I—I'm sorry!" Danika stammered quickly. "It's just…" She made a couple of attempts to look at him again but shied away. "I…I always wanted to know what you looked like. Mama said you were…um…" She blushed again and let out a little giggle. "She said you were beautiful."_ _

__Solf nearly ran a red light and he slammed on the brakes. Danika gave a startled squeak as the seat belt caught her forward momentum, then threw her back. Solf stared at the cross traffic that he nearly drove straight through._ _

__"Why would she say that?" he demanded, his voice sounding a little frantic for a variety of reasons._ _

__"Because…well…because that's…that's how she felt!" Danika tried to explain. She seemed dismayed. "She would…she liked to tell me about you."_ _

__Solf had known Zamfyra for barely a month. How much information could she have possibly gleaned? Part of him didn't want to know. Another part, probably having to do with his vanity, was curious. "Like what?"_ _

__A tentative smile returned to Danika's face. "She talked about how blue your eyes were and how mine are just like them."_ _

___Yeah, I noticed._ _ _

__"And how your little teeth on the bottom are the tiniest bit crooked."_ _

__Solf resisted the urge to check them in the mirror. "Why would she tell you something like that?"_ _

__"Because she wanted me to know everything about you," Danika replied readily. "And I think…I think she didn't want to forget any of it."_ _

__The car behind them honked, and Solf looked up to see that the light had turned green. He was going to flip the guy off, but he had a kid in the car. He just glared at the rear view mirror and drove on. He would have thought that Zamfyra would have wanted to forget everything about that time she spent in his father's house the way Solf had mostly managed to. He didn't get it._ _

__"Uh…" He really, really didn't want to ask this, but he felt so perplexed. "Did she…uh…tell you what happened?"_ _

__Danika looked away, seeming a little embarrassed but still harboring a tiny smile. "She said that you and she were…um…in love, but your father found out and got really angry and he fired her. She said she was so worried about you getting into trouble because of her."_ _

__The _in love_ part was the only phrase that stuck in Solf's mind. That had so not been the case. Okay, maybe she was in love with him, but what he had felt for her, if anything, was strictly short term. It also appeared that she had maintained some sort of idealized memory of him and the time she spent with him, which sounded kind of delusional._ _

__"Did you get in trouble?"_ _

__"Huh? Oh…well…" Telling her that he got his cool red car taken away from him until he went back to school would probably sound kind of shallow, even though he resented it deeply back then. Parts of the furious, red-faced, convoluted lecture his father gave him, which he had also managed to bury in his subconscious, came back to him. Solf wasn't even sure if all of it was directed at him. The _don't screw the help_ part definitely was. He also went off on Ishvalans, something about having been beat up by some gang of Ishvalan punks when he was a young man. Solf had to wonder how much his father had embellished that story and possibly downplayed his part in provoking these "punks." Dad had always been very argumentative and aggressive. So the gist of the lecture was something like _don't screw the help especially if they're Ishvalan and I'm not letting another Ishvalan on my property and if I do they're gonna get it and if I catch you with one of them again you're gonna get it_ and the rest was a nebulous blah blah blah._ _

__"Yeah, he was pretty sore," Solf replied._ _

__"I'm sorry."_ _

__Solf cast her a slightly incredulous look. "Why? You weren't even there."_ _

__"I know, but it still makes me feel sad." Danika brightened a little. "But you're all right now, aren't you?"_ _

__"Oh, yeah, I'm just dandy!" Solf muttered._ _

__His tone of irony was entirely lost on her. She nodded. "That's good!"_ _

__If he didn't know better, Solf would think this kid wasn't even real and this really was a very elaborate hallucination, which would suck because he would not even have enjoyed the more positive benefits of being massively stoned. But she seemed pretty solid. She also gave off a scent that he couldn't quite place. Some of it was sort of outdoorsy. One time their dryer had needed repair and the maids who were doing the laundry hung a bunch of wet clothes outside on the patio furniture. They smelled really good when they were brought in. Danika smelled kind of like that._ _

__There was another smell that wasn't quite so pleasant. It wasn't a people smell. It was sort of a petting zoo smell. Like the part where there were a bunch of goats and the little ones were cute but the big ones tried to eat your clothes and bully you for the goat pellets you could buy outside the goat pen. Solf had a fairly clear memory of being terrified by the petting zoo as a small child and his father ignoring his plight other than to tell him to quit whining like a little bitch._ _

__Solf shook his mind loose of that recollection and hoped that Danika would lose that particular smell. He ran out of things to say and it got quiet again. Danika seemed to be distracted by the sights as they drove into the city. She turned her head this way and that to take it all in, twisting in her seat to be able to look up at the taller buildings._ _

__"When can I start going to school?" she asked._ _

__"School?" Solf felt a twist in his gut. School. The one he worked at. "Uh…I'm not sure." He didn't even want to talk about it._ _

__"I have to get registered and everything. I know _Baata_ had my school send my transcripts."_ _

__"Who's Baata?"_ _

__"That's my grandmother."_ _

__"That's her name?" Solf let out a short laugh. "She said something about goats, I remember."_ _

__Danika giggled. " _Baata_ means grandmother."_ _

__"Oh."_ _

__Danika sobered and let out a small sigh. "I'm sorry she yelled at you."_ _

__"Huh. Well, I yelled back." Solf thought for a moment. From a strictly objective viewpoint, Danika seemed like a "good" kid, polite, eager to please, that kind of thing. But her grandmother wanted her gone because she looked like him. That actually stung a little._ _

__Danika went back to gazing out the windshield and the passenger window. Then she pointed. "What's that big shiny thing?"_ _

__Judging by her description and the direction she was pointing, Solf didn't have to look. "That's the Church of Leto. They call it the Silver Spire." It was kind of a relief to talk about something that didn't actually involve him. "I think whoever designed it was tripping on something low quality and homemade."_ _

__The spire was visible from some distance away and it seemed to creep along beside them as they drove along. Danika followed it for a moment. "What's the Church of Leto?"_ _

__"Really? You don't know?"_ _

__Danika shook her head._ _

__"It was started up about twenty years ago or so by this guy, Seymour Cornello. The Reverend Cornello, he calls himself. Made a fortune off faith healing."_ _

__"Faith healing?"_ _

__"Yeah. He says he channels the power of the Sun God Leto and he touches people and they jump out of their wheelchairs and their sick beds and dance around."_ _

__"Really?" Despite his dissatisfaction with the present situation, Solf felt a flicker of pride at the look of skepticism on Danika's face._ _

__"Well, that's the thing. People say they've been healed. Doctors can't explain it. Whatever. It's a total con, if you ask me," Solf said. "When it doesn't work, Cornello just blows it off, saying that person didn't have enough faith. More like they didn't cough up enough money. But people still keep flocking over there." Solf glanced at the girl curiously. "Do you people go in for that kind of stuff?"_ _

__Danika looked puzzled for a moment. "You mean, Ishvalans?"_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__The girl thought for a moment. "Well…we always pray for someone who is sick or hurt or dying. They either get better or they don't. That's Ishvala's will and we have to be content with it."_ _

__"Huh. That sounds kind of cheap."_ _

__Danika shrugged. "Well, if they get better, that's good. If they don't get better and they die, then they go to Ishvalan's bosom where there isn't any pain or sorrow, and that's good, too." She gave a little sigh. "That's where Mama is."_ _

__Oh, yeah. That happened. Solf grew uncomfortable. "Uh…so, you're okay with that?"_ _

__Danika hesitated, staring out her window before nodding. "Yes," she said quietly. She drew in a deep breath and turned to him with a smile. "Ishvala answered both our prayers. He just did it a little differently than we thought He would."_ _

__Solf frowned at her dubiously. "How do you figure that?"_ _

__"Mama prayed that we'd all be together someday. I prayed that Mama wouldn't die. But even though Ishvala took one parent from me, He gave me another one, and now that Mama's in Ishvala's bosom, and since all the world is Ishvala's bosom, we really are together!"_ _

___Somebody shoot me._ "Yeah. Sounds like a win-win situation."_ _

__Danika settled back in her seat, her eyes half closed. "I still miss her, though," she said in a small voice._ _

__There wasn't anything Solf could add to that. He wasn't going to get wrapped up in a grief that wasn't his. Indulging in bags of self-pity tended to render empathy into road kill._ _


	12. Chapter 12

The temple porch filled with the faithful as they walked out through the front doors. When Andakar first came to Central, he had been surprised to see so many Ishvalans in one place outside of Ishval. Now that he had been here for a while, he knew more about the Ishvalan community here. There was Sivar and Metya Neshed, who owned the Ishvalan market that was not just the only place where certain food items could be found but it was also something of a community center. Sivar was a short, stout man with a beaming smile and a ready laugh. His wife was taller and more slender and a typical Ishvalan matron, outspoken and sharply sensible.

Now that he knew who he was, Andakar noticed Rik Arber standing with his parents. Guessing that the boy probably didn't want to socialize with his math teacher, Andakar merely exchanged a nod with him.

"Andakar Ruhad?"

They had barely cleared the temple steps before they had to turn around. Coming down toward them was a tall Ishvalan man with his hair tied back. He wore dark glasses which he removed as he stepped up to them.

"Miles!" Mattas said, a little surprised. He held out his hand. "When did you get back? I didn't see you inside."

The man shook Mattas' hand and they exchange a quick hug. "I got back Tuesday. Then I was swamped with paperwork and P.R. on the extradition case. I will not miss West City."

"I'd introduce my brother, but I think you're kind of ahead of me," Mattas said. Andakar thought he caught a hint of wary caution in his voice.

Miles gave a sliver of a smile. "Well, I guess that's why I'm not a beat cop anymore." He turned to Andakar and held out his hand. "Miles," he said, not offering another name, whether a first or a family name. "Pleased to meet you."

Andakar shook his hand, thinking he should probably say something like likewise, but social interaction still didn't come easily to him and he wasn't quite sure how pleased he actually was.

Miles didn't wait for a reply. "Would it be possible for you and me to have a talk?"

Before Andakar could ask why, Mattas quickly forestalled him, demanding, "Why? What do you want to talk to him about?"

Andakar was just as curious, but he could ask his own questions. "You're a policeman?"

"Police detective," Miles replied. "And yes, before you ask, this has to do with what happened in Ishval. But not the way you think."

"How then?" Mattas asked a little heatedly. "Is this an official interrogation? He already went through that, and it's been nearly two years!"

Miles gave him a slightly exasperated look. "Relax, Mattas. I'm not going to park him on a stool and beat him with a rubber hose."

"I'm right here," Andakar reminded him, annoyed at the third-person bent this conversation was taking.

Miles grinned a little and spoke directly to him. "Let's just say that it's only semi-official."

"Meaning what?"

Miles looked over his shoulder at the others milling outside the temple. "I'd rather not do this on the temple steps. Can I buy you lunch?"

"I have to meet with a couple of master's program students," Mattas said stiffly.

"Well…" Miles spread his hands. "Andakar's the one I wanted to talk to, so…"

Mattas scowled. "I would feel better if I were present for this."

On the one hand, Andakar was touched by how protective his brother was being. When they were growing up, he had, of course, kept an eye on his little brother, but he also knew when to let him learn from exploring his boundaries. Andakar never recalled him getting quite this fierce. "I appreciate your concern, Mattas," he said. "But I don't need as much coddling as you think I do."

"Are you sure about this?" Mattas asked him, considering him with a slight grimace.

"Yes." He looked at his brother with complete seriousness. "You wanted me to socialize more."

"Socialize, yes. Not get harassed by the police."

"I'm not—" Miles lowered his voice. "I am not harassing anybody!"

Mattas gave Miles a hard look. "Then what's the point of this? What is it you're looking for?"

"Perspective," the detective replied.

.............................................................................

They ended up going to La Sorelle because it was close and Miles liked the sandwiches there. Andakar was not particularly comfortable with this, but he didn't know the city well enough to suggest anywhere else.

Lucy, Rose, and Gleb were busy with customers, but when the two men entered the coffee shop, Lucy came out from behind the counter.

"Miles! How are you?"

Miles took her hands and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm great, Lucy." He looked past her and waved at the others. "Hey guys! Nice to see you back, Rose! Did you have a nice trip with your folks?"

Gleb grinned and waved back while he was handing some pastries to a customer. Rose looked over her shoulder from where she stood at the espresso machine and offered Miles as much of a smile as she gave anyone. "It was okay," she replied to his question.

"So where's Mattas?" Lucy asked, her disappointment clear in her eyes.

"He said he had some students to meet with," Miles explained. "He said he'd call you."

Andakar guessed that Mattas probably hoped Lucy would do her best to listen to their conversation so she could report back.

Miles pointed to the far corner of the shop. "We'll take that table in the corner, if that's okay."

There were a few bistro sets around the edges of the shop, and there was one in the far corner past the counter. "Sure," Lucy said. "Are you guys here for lunch? Do you need a menu?"

"Why don't you surprise us," Miles suggested, flashing a charming smile.

As they sat down at the small round table in the corner, Andakar glanced over at Rose. She was concentrating on pouring two brew pitchers of espresso into a large paper cup and then stirring in some steamed milk. Her hair was still pink.

Miles sat back in his bentwood chair. "I expect you're acquainted with Lieutenant Archer."

Andakar turned to face him and scowled slightly. "Yes. He's the precinct commander at the Kanda Police Station. Why?"

"He's a prime grade, grass-fed _yaakhtai_ ," Miles said. "But you probably know that. He contacted my commander about you, saying that we should keep an eye on you."

Andakar frowned down at the table top. He supposed he shouldn't have been at all surprised that something like this would happen. Lieutenant Archer had always been suspicious of him. He lowered his voice and spoke in Ishvalan. "This is not a period of my life of which I am proud." He glanced up to meet Miles' eyes with an unspoken challenge to do more than just swear.

Miles smiled slightly, glancing past Andakar at Lucy and the others behind the counter. "And little mice have big ears," he replied in perfectly accented Ishvalan.

Andakar almost smiled. "What district are you from?"

"I wasn't born in Ishval. I'm only about a quarter Ishvalan."

That was surprising. "You have the mother tongue."

"Because I made of point of doing so," Miles said. "My maternal grandfather still lives in Wahir, and I visit him when I can. My paternal grandfather was from the same town in Aerugo Lucy and Rose's parents are from," he added. "My family's from all over."

He took a smartphone from his pocket. "Police Commander Grand thinks as much of Lieutenant Archer as I do. He thought Archer's 'warning' was a presumption, but out of professional courtesy, he said he would keep it in mind. Grand asked me to seek you out and conduct an informal interview in whatever way I saw fit. I'm talking to you as a policeman, yes, but also as an Ishvalan. Basically, all I want to do is hear your version."

"My version?" Andakar frowned. "I gave my version. It was God's own truth."

"I don't doubt that," Miles said. He scrolled through the screen on his phone and set it down on the table. "Tell me about Rastin Pendar."

That was a name that brought him no joy to remember. "He was the driving force of what the IPA became. You do know that it was originally created as a legitimate advocacy group, don't you?"

"Yes, I know," Miles replied. "Back when Amestris annexed Ishval, the purpose was to come to the aid of these poor, backward desert people who had nothing but goats and dates and lizards to live on and offer them a slice of Amestrian pie. All that was really on that plate was scraps. What the Amestrians really wanted was access to Ishval's mineral deposits that the Ishvalans didn't have the resources to mine themselves.

"Yes, Amestris piped in water and brought in some industry, like the cement plant, and the mines, of course, which brought jobs, but only to a certain level. For the Ishvalans, there is still that glass ceiling. Management positions are still filled by Amestrians, who are moved out at the various companies' expense and set up in style. Meanwhile, not only has the average Ishvalan's life not improved by much, he has Amestrian managers and supervisors to bow to. So, yes, they damn well needed someone"—Miles gestured at Andakar—"to fight for them."

Andakar was silent for a moment, looking down at the table top. That was a fairly stirring speech, he had to admit. "I'm glad you understand. Injustice has always angered me, but it wasn't just me."

"I know that, too. The original founders basically exhausted themselves and had to step down in favor of those younger and more energetic. Like Rastin Pendar." Miles flicked his finger over the screen of his phone. "Political Science major, didn't finish college."

"There is only a community college in Daliha," Andakar said. "And there's a satellite campus of East City University in Kanda. Both are staffed mostly with Amestrians who aren't always sensitive to our culture. The only other way to earn a degree, the only strictly Ishvalan way, is to study for the priesthood. Don't get me started on what the Amestrians did to our primary school system in return for funding," he added darkly.

"I won't. So it's safe to say that Rastin was a frustrated young man."

Andakar nodded. "Frustrated and angry."

" _The sear of Ishvala's flaming orb was akin to that which burned in his heart. But the blanket of the night did nothing to slake the heat and in the darkness he smoldered like an ember_." Miles shrugged easily at the look of mild surprise on Andakar's face. "My grandfather made me learn a few poems by heart. The Wanderer happened to be one of them." He smiled a little. "It's supposed to be unfinished, but I have to wonder."

The last thing Andakar expected was to hear Rihir quoted in an Amestrian coffee shop by anyone other than Mattas. "You're not alone. But tenth century poets tended to resolve their thoughts. That's what I would tell my students, but they would still debate about it. Aren't we straying from the subject?"

Miles gave a soft chuckle. "I suppose so." He consulted his phone. "Rastin began to take the organization in a somewhat different direction. He organized rallies which were subtly anti-Amestrian at first, then not so subtle later on." He glanced at Andakar. "You spoke at some of these rallies."

"My message was meant to be a positive one. I spoke on solidarity and the preservation of our culture. Rastin had no time for poetry. He was more interested in rhetoric."

"And graffiti," Miles added. "And explosives."

Andakar stirred in his seat. He was impressed with Miles' command of the language and his cultural literacy, but he was getting a little irritated. "If you know all this, why are you asking me?"

"I know facts," Miles corrected. "I want impressions. I want to try to get inside the mind of a man who would blow up innocent people."

"Hm! I wish you luck, then. I thought I understood him, but I fell short."

Lucy came up to their table with two sandwiches in plastic baskets.

 _"Spero che tu stia facendo il bravo_ ," she said to Miles, a little under her breath. She spoke pleasantly but gave him a hard look.

Miles smiled at her. " _Perché non dovrei?_ " he replied.

Lucy gave a little roll of her eyes. She turned to Andakar. "You doing okay?"

"I'm fine," Andakar assured her, adding, "Lucy," to make it sound more personal. When she reported back to Mattas it might count in his favor.

"Okay. You fellas let me know if you need anything," she said as she went back to the counter.

Miles watched her depart. "Your brother's a lucky man," he remarked.

"He is," Andakar agreed distractedly, then fell into a sullen silence as he contemplated the sandwich in front of him that he didn't really want.

Miles took a bite from his sandwich. "Mmm!" He swallowed enough to speak. "They don't have anything like this in West City!" Before taking another bite he asked, "Do you think Rastin was insane?"

"No," Andakar replied promptly. "It's very easy to call someone who would do such a thing a madman. I think people are afraid to admit that there really is such a thing as evil."

"Is that how you would describe Rastin? That wasn't in the report."

"I wasn't thinking as clearly at the time. In hindsight, that's my best explanation. He didn't even tell me about it at first, but I think he took a certain pride in his own daring and he couldn't resist. I thought I could talk him out of it. I didn't think he would actually do such a thing."

"Because you assumed he had the same standard of integrity that you did?"

"There was a time when I would have hoped for that." Andakar lifted his hands a little helplessly. "I was discouraged from the priesthood so I became a teacher. If I wasn't capable of teaching someone something of lasting value then my life had no purpose. But by that time I despaired for Rastin. I was fully prepared to report him to the police. I would have physically dragged him there if I had to."

"So what finally stopped you?"

Andakar rubbed his forehead wearily. "You don't need me to tell you. It's in the report."

Miles ran his finger across the screen of his phone and considered it with a thoughtful look. "Well, this is pretty bleak comfort, but I can see how conflicted you must have been."

Andakar's attention sharpened and Miles looked up to meet his gaze. He turned his phone around so Andakar could see the picture displayed on the screen.

He drew the phone a little closer. The picture was of a smiling Ishvalan girl. Nayela. She had been effusive to his solemnity, spontaneous to his circumspection, and she unleashed a passion in him that was desperate for release and left them both breathless.

"She begged me not to tell the police," he said quickly, anxious to end this. "She swore she could talk Rastin out of it. She came to me later and told me he promised her that he wouldn't." He closed his eyes for a moment. That had been their last night together. He took a deep breath and continued. "Two days…two days later the community center had its opening. I thought nothing could possibly happen now. The place was full of people. I thought that Rastin meant only to destroy the building, not commit murder

"I went there myself. I was impressed. It was probably the most positive thing the Amestrians had done for Ishval in decades."

"Which was, as you said, why Rastin wanted to blow it up," Miles remarked.

"Yes. He wanted to discourage the Amestrians to the point of giving up on Ishval and leaving." Andakar shrugged. "It made sense to him." He leaned forward, his forearms on the table and his hands clasped. "While I was there, Nayela came rushing in." He spoke more quickly now, wanting to get this over with. "She was trying not to show how frantic she was. She grabbed my arm and told me she needed to talk to me outside. I knew it must have had something to do with Rastin. As soon as we got outside, that's what I asked her. I thought perhaps he had decided to set his explosives off somewhere else. But as soon as I said that, the look Nayela told me was all I needed to know.

"I ran back toward the community center. I didn't ask how much time was left, but I had to do something. Nayela ran after me, begging me to stop. The bombs went off before I could get to the door. I was close enough to get hit in the face with debris." He paused and glanced at the picture on the phone screen. He wished that was the way he could remember her. "A piece of concrete hit Nayela in the head and killed her."

He fell silent, feeling exhausted, and after a few moments, Miles said quietly, "I'm sorry."

Andakar gave a slight nod to acknowledge Miles' remark. Bleak comfort indeed. "Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

"Well…" Miles slipped his phone back in his pocket, signaling that the "semi-official" portion of the interview was over. "I am a little curious about something. You were cleared of any wrongdoing. Why did you feel you needed to punish yourself? Justice was served."

"It took my father's influence for me to be completely cleared." Andakar's brows furrowed in a dark look. "And Rastin hanged himself in his jail cell. Do you call that justice?"

"Some people thought so. I think the Amestrian authorities were just as happy to be spared a longer trial. Personally, I think they were hoping it would happen. They told him his sister had been killed then neglected to put a suicide watch on him." Miles's eyes didn't waver from Andakar's. "So you feel that it was your place to take his sins on your head and lose them in the desert for a year?"

"People died because of my error of judgment and because I—" Andakar's mouth twisted in a tight, bitter grimace. "Because Nayela was…she was an intoxication I couldn't get enough of and if I had turned her brother in, I might have lost her. I loved her but that wasn't worth the loss of life." The pointlessness struck him yet again. "That is my shame. Do you understand now?"

Miles nodded, apparently satisfied. "I'm sorry if this was difficult for you. It won't come up again." His expression lightened. "Maybe next time we can discuss poetry."

"Maybe," Andakar agreed halfheartedly.

"Hey, Lucy, could I get a bag for this sandwich?" Miles called out, switching back to Amestrian.

"Sure. Just a second."

Miles turned back to Andakar. "I'll drive you home."

Andakar shook his head. "Thank you, but I think I'd rather walk."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He managed a ghost of a smile. "It's nothing personal. I like walking."

"Okay," Miles said easily, standing up. "It really has been a pleasure to meet you, Andakar."

"Likewise." Andakar supposed he meant it.

Miles picked up his sandwich and stopped by the counter to have Lucy put it in a bag. They exchanged a few pleasantries that Andakar didn't pay attention to, and then he left.

Andakar closed his eyes. The events of those days often went through his head, and they probably always would. But to have gone through them again like this was draining and painful.

"You want to wrap that up?"

Andakar opened his eyes and looked up. Rose stood by his table, holding one of their white paper bags. He looked down at the sandwich. "I suppose so."

"Here." Rose sat down in the chair that Miles had vacated. She took the sandwich and wrapped it in another layer of tissue paper and then slid it into the bag. Folding the top closed, she set it in front of Andakar. "Was Miles grilling you or something?"

Andakar frowned a little. "What makes you say that?"

Rose lifted a shoulder. "'Cause he's a cop." Her looked softened to a somewhat apologetic one. "I kind of guessed. I know about what happened. In Ishval. About the explosion, you know? Mattas was telling Lucy about it when he was over."

It wasn't exactly a fresh shame, since it was only to be expected, but it wasn't a pleasant thing to learn. "What else did he tell you?"

"Not a lot, really," Rose replied. "I was basically eavesdropping anyway." She considered him with a somber look. "You know, most people do something really stupid at least once in their lives."

He was probably being ungracious, but he didn't really appreciate her concern, if that's what it was. "Most people aren't responsible for the deaths of dozens of people."

Rose let out an impatient huff of air. "Whether it's dozens of people or just one, it's all sort of relative. The loss is still there and it still really, really hurts. I'm just saying that you're not…you know…alone."

She frowned and got up quickly. She went back behind the counter and disappeared through a door. Andakar let out a quiet sigh and got up from the table with his bag. Lucy and Gleb were both busy with customers so he was able to leave the shop with just a nod.

No, he wasn't alone. Not in a city this size. After so many months of solitude, though, being alone seemed like a natural state and sometimes preferable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Spero che tu stia facendo il bravo_ =I hope you're being nice
> 
>  _Perché non dovrei?_ =Why wouldn't I be?
> 
> (That came straight from Google Translate, which I don't always trust, so if it's not entirely accurate, I apologize.)
> 
>  _yaakhtai_ =scathing Ishvalan insult of your choice.


	13. Chapter 13

Danika's eyes widened as Solf slowed to turn into the underground parking area of his apartment building. It was only two years old and the immaculate exterior was painted in a pleasant cream color with contrasting grey siding alternating with warm rose-colored brick.

Solf stopped at the security gate at the entrance of the parking lot and entered his security code on the touchpad. The arm lifted up and he drove inside. Danika looked back at the arm as it lowered.

"Do you have to do that every time you come home?"

"Of course. They can't have just anybody driving in here." Solf continued on toward his space and pulled into it. Before he reached down to pop the trunk open, he glanced around to see if anyone else was nearby. He didn't exactly make a point of getting chummy with his neighbors, but they would probably recognize him. There didn't seem to be anyone around so he got out. As Danika got out on her side, he took out her nasty suitcase and shut the trunk. He gave a quick jerk of his head. "This way," he said and moved quickly to the closest elevator.

They rode up to the third floor and the doors slid open. Solf peered out before stepping into the breezeway. His apartment was on the end to the right, overlooking the center of the complex. They reached his door and Danika paused to look over the railing. Below were the garden courtyard and the pool.

" _Eh-h_!" she breathed. "It's so _pretty_!"

Solf unlocked the door. "Come on!" he urged.

Danika quickly followed him inside and he closed the door and locked the deadbolt with a sense of relief. Danika stood in the foyer, transfixed, turning slowly to take it all in. She stepped forward almost gingerly, as though afraid to touch anything. "You live here?" she finally said in an awestruck whisper.

"Well, yeah." She didn't see him shake his head and roll his eyes.

"All by yourself?"

He very nearly said _That's the way I prefer it._ He very nearly said it just for spite. Solf did not skimp on his personal comfort, having only himself to worry about. Until now, anyway. He leased a two-bedroom apartment for the sake of having lots of space, but now it was already starting to feel cramped.

"Your room's up here." He climbed up the stairs and Danika followed him.

Since he moved in, he hadn't even used the guest room, but he still had it furnished and decorated in simple neutrals. The cleaning crew kept it dusted and changed the sheets every week. He had stored a few boxes of things in this room and a few suits in the closet, but he moved everything out yesterday. It wasn't a big room, no bigger than the office, but Danika halted in the doorway and clapped her hands over her mouth to smother the gasp she drew in.

Solf turned around and frowned at her. "What?"

Her eyes were wide as saucers. "This…this is _my_ room?"

What was it with this kid and the obvious? Solf bit back a sarcastic remark. "Yes, this is your room." He laid her suitcase on the russet duvet, the only bright color in the room. "The bathroom's the next door on the right." He had to think for a moment. Was there soap and stuff in there? He didn't know.

Danika ventured slowly into the room, drinking it all in. She leaned down to run her hand over the duvet, a smile growing on her face. "It's so…I don't even know how to describe it! It's like a…a…palace!"

It was starting to get old, but Solf supposed that, judging by her clothes and her slightly funky smell and her utter lack of sophistication, that Danika was not from one of the more affluent areas of Ishval, assuming they even had any. He didn't know just how underprivileged she was used to being, and he hoped he didn't have to spend too much time explaining how things worked.

He opened up the closet door. There were actually hangers in here. When did that happen? "You can hang your stuff in here."

Danika opened her suitcase. Solf thought he caught another whiff of barnyard from it. Next time the cleaning crew came in he needed to make sure all this stuff got washed. Shit. He wondered how quickly the news of the new resident in apartment 376 would get around once the cleaners got hold of the information. He knew he wasn't going to be able to keep Danika a secret for too long unless he kept her locked up in her room, which was kind of illegal.

Danika took out a couple dresses similar to the one she had on, as well as a couple of blouses and a skirt, and hung them up in the closet. That seemed to be the extent of her outerwear. She slipped a few things into the dresser that Solf figured were probably underclothing and which he really didn't want to see.

There were also a small collection of miscellaneous items that Solf didn't pay attention to that Danika started arranging around the room, a couple of books and a couple of small pictures with wooden frames.

"So…are you okay for a while?" Solf asked. He was starting to get a little hungry and he supposed he needed to figure out lunch for them both.

Danika nodded. "Mm-hmm! Oh! Is it all right if I pin a poster to the wall?" she asked anxiously.

Solf shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so." Well, that sounded fairly normal. Some teen idol or something.

Danika took a cardboard tube from her suitcase. It was about two feet long and looked like it was actually several toilet paper tubes taped together. She carefully slid a rolled up poster from it and unrolled it. She then rolled it the other way to get the curl out of it.

He wasn't all that curious, but when Danika unrolled the poster again and laid it on the bed, Solf was a little surprised. The guy in the poster was clearly some sort of musician, since he was playing some sort of mandolin thing, but he was at least in his forties. Not exactly a teen idol.

"Who's that?"

"That's Zamayir Shua!" Danika exclaimed. "He's famous in Ishval!"

"That really doesn't tell me anything." Solf gave a little grimace. "Kind of old for you, isn't he?"

Danika giggled. "I'm not in love with him or anything! He's a really good singer."

"Okay. Whatever." Solf had already lost interest.

Danika closed the suitcase. "Should I put this in the closet?"

"Uh…actually, how about we just toss it? It looks like it's about to fall apart anyway."

Danika looked surprised and doubtful. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I don't keep duct tape here. If I have something that needs to get fixed with duct tape I throw it away. Put it downstairs by the front door when you're done." Solf headed for the door. "I'm going to go figure something out for lunch. You can…I dunno…freshen up or something."

"All right. Oh! Wait!"

Solf paused in the doorway. "What?"

Danika came scurrying over to him, giving him that big, blue-eyed earnest look. She clasped her hands together. "Thank you, Father! Thank you so much!"

She started moving toward him like she was going to hug him and he backed away a little, holding up his hand. He tried to make it seem like the gesture was sort of self-deprecating and not like he was trying to warn her to back the hell off, which was what he was actually doing. "Oh, well, you know, what else could I do?" he said, making it sound like it was no big deal.

He managed a lame smile and headed downstairs. He was annoyed about this whole set up in general, but also at himself. He was usually a pretty smooth operator. He was usually pretty good at charming his way in or out of things. But he was seriously out of his depth here.

_All you can do is your best._

He sneered to himself as Chris Mustang's sincere but useless advice came back to mind. He had spent most of his adult life being adequate and letting money take care of everything else. Yes, he could have done "his best," but he simply didn't care enough. Now his precious living space had been invaded by a teenager who smelled like she came straight off the farm and who was going to impact his life like a Mack truck.

He slumped sullenly into his kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It held a collection of Styrofoam and cardboard cartons, a couple of hunks of gourmet cheese, and some condiments. He opened a couple of the boxes and considered their contents drearily. He supposed he could heat a few of these things up and that would be enough for the two of them, but then what? He could order out, he supposed. Teenagers liked pizza, didn't they? It sort of flowed in their bloodstreams, didn't it?

Solf closed the refrigerator and leaned his head against it. He had never been responsible for someone else's welfare before. It was a gross imposition on his life and he was unwilling to learn any of the finer points.

"Are you all right, Father?"

Solf jumped and swore. Danika jumped, too. "I'm sorry!" she said quickly. "I didn't mean to startle you!"

"I'm not-I'm just not used to having anyone else here." He noticed that she had taken off her shoes. Her feet were kind of small—perfect for sneaking around. He would have to be really aware of that. To cover his annoyance and embarrassment, he opened the fridge again and took out the leftover chicken, the leftover pasta, and the leftover patty melt.

Danika came closer. "That looks good!" she pronounced. "Did you make that?"

"What?" Solf gave her a slightly incredulous look. "No. This is just stuff I brought home from restaurants." He opened a cupboard and took down a couple of plates that he seldom used. "I don't cook. I heat things up."

Danika glanced around the kitchen. It was well-equipped, but like the plates, most of the equipment was hardly ever used. He had pots and pans and bowls and knives and cutting boards and a few gadgets that he didn't even know the purpose of, all things that he had left to the decorator's discretion to supply the apartment with. After a moment, Danika turned back to him with a look of pity. Before that had barely registered in Solf's mind and get him irritated, Danika's expression changed to a gleeful smile.

"Now I can cook for you!" she exclaimed. She even clapped her hands together, she was so excited by the prospect.

"Uh…"

"You live all by yourself and you don't have anyone to take care of you!" Danika went on.

It wasn't as if Solf was unused to having other people take care of mundane stuff like cooking and cleaning and laundry. That was how he grew up. But this just felt sort of weird.

"You…uh…know how to cook?" Because if she didn't this was not going to happen.

"Oh, yes!" Danika assured him. She immediately started poking around in the cupboards. "I did a lot of the cooking at home!" She waggled her head with a smile. "I mean my _old_ home," she corrected herself. She opened up the pantry and peered inside. "I have three uncles. They eat a lot."

Solf shrugged. "Well, I guess we can give it a try." He certainly wasn't going to take her out to the restaurants he frequented. He nodded toward the boxes on the counter. "But this'll do for now."

Mm-hm!" Danika nodded, eyeing the contents of the pantry critically. She frowned a little. Then she went to the refrigerator and opened it. "There's not very much here," she said. She opened up vegetable and meat drawers, which were empty. "We'll need to go to the market." She straightened up quickly and looked over the refrigerator door at Solf. "If that's all right."

Solf wasn't quite ready to go out in public with her, but once they ate what was here, they would have to either rely on takeout or cook. He would probably get tired of pizza real fast. "Yeah. Okay. We'll do that later. I guess."

.................................................................................

If he ever even went to a food market, it was the one in the high-end outdoor mall that was a couple of miles away. It had an extensive section of prepared food. But he didn't want to be seen there. So he drove a little farther to the first suburban supermarket they came to. Danika poked through the produce section, pinching, thumping, and smelling things. She frowned at price signs and fussed over weighing things. Solf hung back, feeling like a fish out of water, gasping and dying and waiting to get stepped on. He wasn't even sure he recognized some of the things she put into the cart.

"Solf?"

Solf jumped. He was getting really tired of doing that. He turned around quickly and came face to face with a bald man with a little mustache. His heart dropped into his shoes. "Oh…uh…hey, Richard!" he blurted out nervously.

The bald man smiled but gave him a curious look. "Funny running into you here, of all places. You're not a…um…shopper."

"Uh…no…well…I kind of thought I'd…you know…pick up some veggies," Solf said. He made it sound as casual as he could, but inside he was cursing himself. He should have gone someplace farther away. He might not have run into any of his neighbors, but he had forgotten about people who worked for his father. Richard Barnett was his father's accountant and financial advisor. He didn't know exactly how much Richard got paid, but he'd been with Dad for years, so he must have thought it was worth it to stay.

Richard nodded. "Oh, okay. Well, that's good." He looked around. "Maggie's around here somewhere. They're having a sale on bottom round." He grinned. "She makes killer pot roast."

"Awesome," Solf remarked. He could feel sweat trickling down his sides. "So…yeah…nice to run into you—"

"Father, do you like sweet potatoes?"

Solf refused to jump out of his skin anymore. It was getting undignified. He just froze, staring at the space just to Richard's right side and wishing the scuffed linoleum floor would crack open and let him fall through.

Richard stared at Danika for a moment. Out of the corner of Solf's eye, he noted the stages that the man's expression went through. First it was sort of blank. Then he looked a little shocked. Then a light sort of dawned in his eyes and he drew in a deep breath. He was an accountant, after all. He knew how to put two and two together.

"Solf?" he said quietly. "Is this…is this Zamfyra's girl?"

Solf had to remind himself to breath. "I…uh…I can…" Explain? Lie?

A smile spread across Richard's face, which surprised Solf. It wasn't a calculating smile, which surprised him even more. Richard turned to Danika. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Danika looked back with polite curiosity. She gave a little bow. "Danika."

Richard held out his hand. "It's really nice to meet you!"

Danika smiled back and shook his hand. Solf cringed for a moment, fearing she would do that forehead thing. "It's nice to meet you, too, Zhaarad!"

"I work for…well…I guess he'd be your grandfather," Richard explained.

Danika went a little wary. "You mean, Father's father?"

"That's right." Richard considered the girl thoughtfully for a moment. "So, how is your mother?"

Danika's features fell a little. "She's dead," she replied softly. "She was bitten by a brown viper."

Richard gave a little start. "Oh! I'm so sorry!" He looked back and forth from Danika to Solf. Then he smiled at the girl. "Sweet potatoes are fantastic! How do you like to cook them?"

Solf was nearly as thrown off by the sudden switch as Danika was, but she recovered quickly and smiled. "Oh, all kinds of ways! I like to make soup with them."

"That's great! Sweet potato fries are fantastic, too, and they're super easy to make. Even I can do it. Definitely pick up some of those!"

Danika nodded and smiled enough to show off some dimples. "I will!"

She went back to the potato display and Richard turned back to Solf, lowering his voice. "I'm really proud of you, Solf! Really! This is an awesome thing you're doing!"

"It is?"

"Of course it is!" Richard held Solf's gaze. "You know, to be perfectly honest, I kind of thought you didn't have it in you. But you pulled through!" His expression went concerned. "I'm assuming you haven't told your father about this. I think we all would have heard about it by now."

Solf had been holding himself stiffly, expecting the worst, whatever the worst might end up being. Now he relaxed a little. He actually kind of liked Richard. Anyone who could calmly put up with Solf Sr.'s mercurial temper and not either run screaming or slit their wrists was a pretty solid individual. "No…no, I haven't told him." He swallowed. "I kind of wasn't planning to."

Richard nodded. "Well, your secret's safe with me." He patted Solf's arm and stepped back to consider him as though seeing him for the first time. "I realize you must be stepping pretty far out of your comfort zone, Solf. If you need any help or anybody to talk to, you just call me, okay? Do you have my number?"

Solf took his phone from his pocket and checked his contacts. "I don't think so."

"Get me on there, then." Richard gave him his number. His smiled reappeared and he looked over to where Danika was inspecting the sweet potatoes. "She's really a cutie, Solf! And she's got nice manners. I don't know how proud you are, but you ought to be."

"Um…thanks," Solf replied, a little weakly.

Richard nodded and then gave a little flinch as his cell phone played a cheerful tune. "Excuse me." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen. "Yeah, hon?...I'm in produce…sure, I'll be right over." He hung up and slipped the phone back in his pocket. "Gotta run. Maggie needs help getting a big sack of dog food into the cart." He waved. "You call me, okay?"

Solf nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

He watched Richard walk away and his shoulders drooped. That actually went better than a situation like that could go, but it left him with an odd, uncomfortable feeling. Someone else knew. Someone in his father's household. An ally in the enemy camp, one could say. That should have made him feel better, but it didn't exactly. It just sort of made this situation grow more real and more irrevocable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did it. I was going to try to keep the OCs to a minimum in this fic, but I couldn't resist "borrowing" another one from Sons of the Desert. Later in this story, I will be bringing in the irrepressible Shua. I changed his name just a little. And I suppose Dejan will be along for the ride as well ;)
> 
> Richard is not an OC. I was looking for a canon character to be Solf Sr's accountant, so I looked through the FMA character list. Richard is one of the guys from Roy's unit in Ishval and who later joins him in the battle on the Promised Day. I'm assuming he was still military, but now he's an accountant.


	14. Chapter 14

This time, Solf went even further afield.

He supposed it was a matter of pride or vanity or something, but since he was going to have to face the reality of Danika attending the school at which he worked, he refused to let her do so dressed like Heidi the Goat Girl. It would be a rather unflattering reflection on him.

But neither did he want to risk going to the higher-end stores that he normally shopped at. It wasn't a question of money. He wanted to avoid the possibility of any more embarrassing confrontations. So he hit the highway and drove out to the outlet mall. It was a little distasteful, a little seedy—make that a lot seedy. Literally. It was out next to a field where people were selling produce at the side of the road—but none of his neighbors or anyone connected to his father or his father's associates would be caught dead there.

Yes, there were designers that he'd heard of that were represented here, stores whose names he recognized, but it was still seedy. It was noisy. It was full of families on weekend shopping trips. Worse, it was full of teenagers whose parents must have just dumped them here to get them out of the way for a day. There were overweight mall cops sloping around trying to look intimidating but failing. It was kind of demeaning.

They walked along one arm of the mall, passing the food court with the playland full of shrieking toddlers. They passed a gaming store, a skater store, a goth store, a men's store (hey, that was actually a pretty nice shirt), a little kids' store, a book store, an electronics store, until finally coming to a store whose windows displayed general trendy casual.

Danika ventured inside and Solf followed her a few paces behind. The store was fairly large and the speakers thumped with some sort of top 40 hit. Solf cringed at it as well as at the look the sales girls were giving Danika. She was wearing a blouse and a skirt and her frumpy shoes and it seemed like she spent most of her life in those braids.

One of the girls, an overly made-up piece of work, approached Danika, who gave a little start and sort of hunched her shoulders meekly. "Welcome to Amestrian Dragon Outfitters! How can I help you today?"

Danika clearly had no clue. "I...I'm…just looking for school clothes."

_And not a moment too soon_ the sales girl's expression said as her eyes flicked up and down Danika's ensemble. She brightened a little but didn't quite lose the uppity look on her face. "Awesome!" she declared. "We're running a sale this weekend. If you buy any three regularly priced items, we'll take forty percent off at the register. If you buy one or two items, they'll be twenty-five percent off. Certain exceptions apply. Shoes are buy one pair get a second pair fifty percent off. Handbags and belts are buy two get a third for free. We also have a clearance section in the back where you'll find savings of up to sixty percent off the original price. If there's anything you'd like to try on, please let us know and we'll be happy to set you up in a dressing room!"

Danika just nodded at the girl's rapid-fire spiel. "Oh…thank you."

Her duty apparently done, the sales girl moved on to her next victim. Danika moved slowly through the store, gazing around at the offerings. Many of the fashions here violated the school dress code, Solf noted. He enforced it enough to know. It wasn't so much that he cared; he liked the irritation it caused, not to mention the mortification caused by parents bringing their kids something else to wear. It would be kind of embarrassing to have his own kid show up at school in booty shorts.

Danika didn't seem to know where to look, and Solf wasn't about to ask the sales girls for any of their sneering, patronizing help. Neither did he want to be here all day. He moved closer to her.

"See anything you like?"

Danika lifted her shoulders. "I don't even know what to look for." She looked up at him, her brows knit, and she spread her arms a little to indicate her own clothes. "This is what I would wear to school in Ishval. I don't see anything like that here."

"No, you wouldn't." Solf glanced around, a little despairingly. He wanted her to look as much like a normal Amestrian teenager as she possibly could. "There's some jeans over there," he said, pointing to a display against the wall.

Danika went over to take a look at some that had a sign above them that said _destroyed_. "They have holes in them."

"You don't have to get the ones with holes in them," Solf said, a little impatiently. "Here. These don't." He pointed to a pair of dark wash jeans under a sign that said _skinny_.

While Danika looked over the jeans, Solf turned to see if there was anything else that could be considered. As he turned, he found himself facing a quartet of teenage girls, which, in itself, would not be surprising, considering where he was. But he recognized them immediately. What was worse, before he could duck out or even turn around, they saw him. They were only a couple of feet away, after all, so he didn't really stand a chance.

"Hi, Mr. Kimblee!" Winry Rockbell spoke brightly but might possibly have been trying to cover up the same shock and distaste that he felt at running into her.

Shit damn hell.

"Yo, Mr. K!" Paninya greeted him, probably thinking since they were not on school property that she could be overly familiar.

Lan Fan just waved at him, looking a little more wary. A younger, shorter Xingese girl was with them, eyeing him curiously. "Hi!" she pronounced.

Danika turned around and did that little meek hunchy thing again.

The girls looked at her, then at Solf. He could practically hear the clicking and whirring sounds coming out of their brains as they each rapidly speculated on what they were seeing. That could be bad. His private life was a complete unknown to them, but he was sure that many of the students at Central High pondered, conjectured, or otherwise deliberated on what it might entail. Before they got too much farther with that, he figured he'd better set the record, such as it was, straight.

"Uh…ladies…this is my…" Wow. He didn't even want to say it out loud but he was kind of committed now. "This is my…um…daughter, Danika."

The girls' eyes widened. Paninya's mouth dropped open. Winry just beamed a smile. "Wow! Really? I didn't know you had a daughter!"

_That's because you don't know anything about me and up until now I've been keeping it that way and now I have to let you and the rest of the student body in on the secrets of my very personal life and I'm so screwed_.

Danika smiled shyly "I just came here from Ishval."

"Straight up?" Paninya exclaimed. "That's so cool!"

The girls seemed to be sizing Danika up, and Solf had the feeling that they were doing the same thing to him by extension, which was hardly their place. But somehow or other, by whatever standards they measured by, Danika seemed to fall within acceptable parameters.

"When did you come out here?"

"Are you visiting or are you going to live here?"

"Are you going to be starting at Central High?"

"Are you looking for stuff for school?"

"I…" Danika looked from one girl to the other, her smile growing with confidence. "I got here yesterday, yes, yes, and yes!" she finished with a little giggle. Then she looked around the store. "I don't really know what to get, though."

"Well, here." Winry beckoned her to follow. "They've got some midi skirts back here. And there are capris, too! I bet they've got some of those on clearance! Come on!"

Danika followed her obediently, along with the other girls. Solf hovered cautiously behind them, apparently forgotten for the moment. This store was actually a bit bigger and deeper than it had looked at first. The girls went from rack to rack, picking through them with an expert eye. Danika seemed to have put herself in their hands and she soon had an armload of clothes to try on. There were a couple of chairs against a clear space along the wall, and Solf figured he might as well sit down.

After they'd come back from the grocery store yesterday (Danika had talked him into signing up for some sort of store card and the total dropped nearly by half), she did indeed prepare a home-cooked meal. It was chicken and vegetables with some sort of mildly spicy sauce served over rice. It was pretty good. Then she cleaned everything up and put it all away. He had to show her how the dishwasher worked, but after that she shooed him out of the kitchen.

She went to bed early and was up early this morning. He heard the shower running in the other bathroom (he had the presence of mind to make sure she bought soap and shampoo when they were at the store). Then he heard her puttering around in the kitchen again, and after a while he could smell sausage and onions. One part of his brain was thinking that it could get used to this. The other part was running around in a frantic circle with its fingers plugged in its ears yelling _la la la la I can't hear you la la la_.

"Hey, Mr. Kimblee! What do you think?"

Startled out of his reverie, Solf looked up. Lan Fan was practically dragging a giggling Danika over to stand in front of him. She had on the jeans she'd picked out and a blue top with flowers on it. The clothes themselves were fairly ordinary, but the transformation was kind of dramatic. Danika looked…well…ordinary. In a good way.

Solf nodded, as they seemed to expect some sort of answer. "Yeah, that…that looks good."

They scampered back to the dressing room. The other girls scoured the store and kept taking other outfits back for Danika to try on. Then they would have her come out and model them. Everything that she showed him—jeans, capris, skirts, shorts—not only made her not look like Frump Girl, they fell within the dress code. Winry and her friends certainly seemed to know how to work the system.

They sat Danika down and took turns trying shoes on her. They then disappeared into a separate room across from where Solf sat that housed a display of bras and panties. A salesgirl with a measuring tape draped over her shoulders greeted them and after a brief consultation, she whipped the tape off her shoulder and wrapped it around Danika's chest. Solf straightened up and looked away. He didn't want to know.

After what was probably over an hour, Danika came out with her arms full. The other girls helped her carry the rest.

"Now I have to decide which to get," Danika said, inspecting what she was carrying.

Solf stood up, grateful to get the circulation flowing back into his butt and to no longer have women glancing at him uncomfortably like he was some sort of creeper. "Let's just get it. You pretty much need it all."

Danika stared at him, shocked. " _All_ of it?"

"Yes. It's fine." He was so done with this place and the last thing he wanted to do right now was wait for her to agonize over a decision.

Danika looked extremely apprehensive. "But it's so much!"

"They are having a sale," the younger girl, whose name appeared to be Mei, said.

"And some of this stuff was on clearance, too," Winry added.

Danika did not look convinced. "Yes, but…"

"It's _fine_ ," Solf insisted. "Come on."

Danika gathered up the clothing with a doubtful look, the other girls helping her. They reached the front register and put everything on the counter. The salesgirl started ringing and bagging up the purchases. The girls chattered among themselves while Danika watched the process.

The last item, a pair of canvas sneakers, went into the bag, and the salesgirl beamed at Solf. "Your total today comes to 377 cenz!"

Solf reached for his wallet and flinched when Danika drew in a gasp and clapped her hands over her mouth. He frowned at her.

"What? What?" People normally didn't react like that unless something dire was going down.

She stared up at him, horrified. "It's so _much_!"

Solf had dropped easily twice that much for one custom tailored suit. "Relax, will you?" he muttered, taking out a credit card and sliding it through the card reader. He signed on the screen and took the receipt the salesgirl handed him. He waved to the bags. "Okay, get your stuff."

Instead of doing that, Danika burst into tears. There were people waiting behind them who were starting to stare. The girls looked alarmed and anxious.

"What's the matter?" Winry asked.

Lan Fan moved in front of her to look into her face. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Danika peered up at Solf through her tears. "Thank you!" she whispered. "Thank you so _much_!"

The other girls stared at her for a moment, then they squealed and wrapped their arms around her.

"Babeee!" Paninya squeezed her. "Don't cry!"

"No, you can cry if you want to!" Lan Fan countered.

"Look, let's move it along, okay?" Solf urged. Other customers were smiling and pointing. He did not like being smiled and pointed at by a bunch of discount hunters.

The girls gathered up Danika's bags and shuffled out with her. Solf joined them as Danika was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and still looking a bit overwhelmed. She managed a couple of breathy giggles as the girls fussed over her.

"Okay, so what else do you need?" Winry asked with business-like efficiency. "Do you have stuff like notebooks and binders?"

"Do you have a backpack?" Paninya asked.

Danika sniffed. "I…no…I don't. I had a book bag, but the handle broke."

"There's an office supply store at the other end of the mall," Lan Fan suggested. "They have all that stuff."

Mei nodded. "We were going there anyway."

Danika looked timidly at Solf. "Is that all right?"

A little exasperated, Solf gestured toward the general direction of "the other end of the mall." "Yes. That's fine. You guys lead the way. I've never been here before."

The girls headed off with Danika in tow and Solf followed them, feeling kind of drained and a little embarrassed. He was also feeling just a little suspicious. In very short order, Winry Rockbell and her cohorts had taken possession of Danika and practically adopted her like a lost puppy. He couldn't help wondering if they had some sort of hidden agenda.

The trip to the office supply store was managed without tears, although Danika still had a sticker-shock look on her face. It was then suggested that they head to the food court for lunch. Solf despaired, but he was feeling in need of some caffeine. Alcohol would have been better, but it wasn't available here.

He handed Danika a twenty. "Here. Go get whatever you want. I'm going to sit down."

Danika took the bill reverently. "Thank you!" she breathed.

"Don't mention it." Seriously. Ever.

He got himself a grande bold and found a table that wasn't sticky or close to either a bunch of whiney little kids or a bunch of teenagers, which wasn't easy. He sat down with a deep sigh and closed his eyes. After a time, Danika and her newfound friends carried trays of food to a nearby table. They were close enough to be heard over the dull, echoing roar of the food court. Solf kept his eyes closed, wondering if he ought to listen in or whether it would be better not to. It actually took a moment to focus on their conversation over the other noise.

He heard Danika give a little laugh. "Thank you all so much for helping me! I've never been to a place like this."

"There aren't any malls in Ishval?" Paninya asked.

"There's one in Kanda. I went there a couple of times, but it's tiny compared to this. We would usually shop at the marketplace."

"You mean, like a store called The Marketplace?" Winry asked.

"No, it's just a marketplace. It's outside." She let out a long breath. "Everything here is so big! It's kind of scary."

"You'll get used to it," Lan Fan assured her. "My grandfather brought us here from Xing when we were little."

"I was just a baby." By process of elimination, Solf figured that was Mei.

"So…um…does your mom live in Ishval?" Winry asked. "I mean, I kind of figured she'd be shopping with you if she was here."

There was a pause and Solf waited a little nervously. "No...she's not here," Danika replied, sounding subdued. "She...um…died. Two weeks ago from yesterday."

There was a collective gasp of horror. "Omigod!" "Oh, I'm so sorry!" "What happened?"

"She was bitten by a snake."

Another gasp. "How does that happen?" Paninya exclaimed.

"It can happen," Lan Fan said. "Grandfather said in Xing, out in the country, on the farms, they've got kraits. If you don't get to a doctor quick, it can be fatal."

"Are you okay?" Winry asked. "I mean, it just happened, practically!"

"I'm…" Danika hesitated. "It was so sudden, it kind of took me a while for it to feel real. Not until the funeral." She sighed and was quiet for a moment. "Some days are harder than others.

"I know how you feel!" Winry said. "My parents died a couple of years ago. Actually, they were in Ishval when it happened. That place that got blown up, you know?"

Solf actually knew that. He'd only just heard about it, as a matter of fact.

Danika drew in a gasp. Solf was sure these girls were going to start hyperventilating. "That's terrible! I'm so sorry!"

"So now you're—I'm sorry!" Paninya said quickly. "This sounds really nosy, but how did your parents meet?"

Solf stiffened, bracing himself to get up from his seat to shut that conversation down.

But Danika hesitated. "It's sort of a long story," she said after a moment. "And it's…not really mine to tell."

Solf lifted a brow above his closed eyes. That was…a thing.

"It's cool," Lan Fan said in a firm tone that seemed to forestall any further discussion on the matter.

They continued on with other topics, school, clothes, movies, how to milk a goat (that was Danika's contribution—the other girls were fascinated) and the subject of parentage didn't come up again. Solf relaxed a little, feeling like he dodged a bullet. It was entirely possible that it would come around again and get him in the ass. But he felt that he might at least get through the weekend.


	15. Chapter 15

There were still a good ten minutes before class started. He had a small collection of books waiting for Winry and now he was waiting for her. He was nervous and that bothered him.

Andakar was aware of his lack of accessibility. He was not warm. He was not popular. At one time he was those things. His students sought him out to talk and exchange ideas. He was full of sanguine idealism back then. He believed in education, in the pursuit of knowledge, for its own sake.

Now it was simply a matter of getting through the day, its very drudgery a strain. He supposed many of his current students felt the same way. Admittedly, his first period class had a few bright sparks in spite of his own lack of warmth. Alphonse was one of the best examples. Paninya and Ling were a little distracting, but good-natured. Lan Fan was solemn and generally quiet, but she often answered questions the other students couldn't. Edward was also quiet, but sullen rather than solemn.

Then there was Winry. Like Alphonse, she enjoyed learning and kept a positive attitude. It puzzled him just a little. Knowing what he knew, knowing how much she had lost, how did she do it? What well of strength and resiliency did she draw from? Was it simply a matter of youth? Was he himself so brittle that his own loss crushed him so easily? It was humbling.

The door opened a little and a blonde head poked in. "Oh, good, you're here!" Winry stepped in and dropped her books off at the desk she usually sat at. Andakar set the books he had brought on top of his desk as she approached.

"Except for this one," he said, indicating Mattas' thesis, "they're all in Ishvalan, which I realize won't be of help to you. But if there is anything you'd like me to translate, I'll be happy to do so." He spoke calmly, but his heart rate had sped up from nerves and guilt.

Winry picked up the book of fables, probably because it was the most attractive with its colorful cover. "Oh, cool! Is this a kids' book?"

"Yes. It's a collection of fables."

Winry opened the book—Andakar noted that she did so with care, recognizing its age and value—and turned some of the pages. A smile grew on her face. "These illustrations are awesome!" She turned a few more pages, studying the illustrations, and nodded. "So these really are fables in the classic sense, aren't they? I mean, they're sort of anthropomorphized animals. I guess there's usually some kind of lesson in every story?"

Andakar nearly flinched. "Yes, that's exactly right."

Winry grinned. "I should show this to Mr. Braeda. He's really into stuff like this. I'll be really careful with it!" she added as an assurance. She set the book aside and picked up the book of poetry. It had no illustrations, but she looked over the pages just the same. "This is a really interesting looking alphabet."

"That's actually the Old Tongue," Andakar said. "It's similar to modern Ishvalan but different enough to be a separate language. Those poems are a thousand years old, and I prefer to read them as they were originally written."

Winry nodded. "That's really cool!"

Andakar watched her for a few moments as she slowly turned the pages, appreciating the book for its own value even if she couldn't read any of it.

"Miss Rockbell, may I ask you a question?"

Winry glanced up from the book. "Sure!"

His heart pounded in his chest. This was foolishness. It was none of his business, and yet it was. "I was wondering why you chose Ishval for your project." He hesitated a moment, then admitted, "I happened to learn just recently that your parents died there. If this is too sensitive a subject, please say so," he added.

Winry put the book down, her look thoughtful and a little subdued. "No, it's okay," she replied. "And yeah, it's sensitive, but that's kind of why I wanted to do this. I wanted to know what made my parents go there. I wanted to know what attracted them. My parents were doctors, and they worked at a low-cost medical clinic on the South Side. They would get a lot of patients who had come here from Ishval who were sending most of their money to families back home."

She smiled a little. "My parents were real humanitarians. They really walked their talk. They'd heard enough about how things were kind of rough for a lot of Ishvalans in their own land because the Amestrian government wasn't doing enough. So they kind of took the fight to the enemy, I guess. When they heard about the Civic Center, they really wanted to get involved, so they went out as consultants for the medical clinic that was going to open there."

Andakar could hear the ring of pride in Winry's voice. He also felt wretchedly worse.

_Why did I not do more? How could I not have foreseen what happened? How could I have been so blind?_

He almost didn't realize that Winry was continuing with her explanation. "…so I guess this is kind of a…catharsis." She looked at him a little anxiously. "Does that make sense?"

He almost couldn't answer at first. She was seeking approval from him? If he told her the truth, how much more painful would it be? "That makes admirable sense," he replied at last.

"Oh, good!" Her smile returned. "It made sense in my head. Oh, hey!" she went on. "There's gonna be a new girl starting here. I don't know when, exactly, but she's from Ishval!"

That was a surprise. "Really?" Why was talking to this girl so easy and yet so hard?

"Yeah! And you know what the craziest part is? Well, not _crazy_ crazy, but maybe a little. She's Mr. Kimblee's daughter!" He must have expressed such a look of shock that Winry laughed. "I know, right?"

"I…I had no idea!"

Winry gave an amused roll of her eyes. "Well, nobody did! But she's really nice. We met her at the outlet mall over the weekend. I don't know what classes she'll be in, though. I guess we'll find out."

Andakar nodded. Other students started making their way into the classroom by this time. He produced the canvas bag that he'd carried the books in. "As I said, if there is anything you'd like me to translate, let me know. In the meantime, I'll look for others."

"Thanks, Mr. Ruhad!" Winry said brightly. "And I'll take good care of these, I promise!"

"I'm sure you will."

The classroom began to fill up and Winry went to her seat to join her circle of friends. Andakar took the graded quizzes from his satchel and started passing them out. They had done well. No one had scored lower than eighty-nine percent, which really didn't surprise him too much. No, there was one surprise. N.V. had scored a ninety-two. He gave the impression of being an underachiever. Perhaps he simply tested well.

Andakar was almost too distracted as class began. He had learned what he wanted to learn from Winry, but it made him feel even more burdened. And the news that Solf Kimblee had an Ishvalan daughter was so mystifying that he didn't dare speculate.

The students seemed pleased with their quiz grades. The next one, Andakar decided, would be harder.

................................................................

"What is this, anyway?"

Danika looked up from the registration forms she was busily filling out. He was probably supposed to do those, but he really hated filling out forms. He'd sign wherever he needed to sign and that would probably be good enough.

He'd left her alone in the apartment while he was at work, which did not make him feel comfortable. He left strict instructions about not answering the door or talking to strangers—or anybody, for that matter. She had apparently spent much of the day cooking. She used the food processor that had been sitting forgotten in a lower cupboard. The result was a sort of orangey-pink soup. She had even dug out a soup tureen that he didn't even know he had. The soup was cold. Apparently it was supposed to be.

"It called _gazaach_ ," Danika explained. She dimpled happily. "It was so much easier to make with the food processor! I usually have to just chop everything up really finely."

Solf continued to consider the bowl in front of him. "When you say everything, what is that exactly?"

"Oh, it's tomatoes and cucumbers and bell peppers and onion and some oil and some vinegar. And there's a piece of bread that got mixed up in it, too. I didn't put hot peppers in it," she added. "But I could next time, if you like."

Well, so far, her cooking did not disappoint. There weren't a lot of upsides to this situation, but this was definitely one of them. Solf picked up his spoon and took a taste, filling his mouth with a cold, creamy, tangy goodness. "Wow," he mused in surprise. "That's really good."

Danika giggled. "I'm glad you like it!" She turned her attention back to her registration forms. "I'm going to sign up for Choir," she announced.

"Okay." Solf couldn't quite get over this soup. "Did you make this a lot at home?"

"Mm-hm. It doesn't cost very much to make. My family keeps a kitchen garden." She paused in her writing for a moment, twiddling her pen in her fingers. A sort of shadow passed over her face but she shook it off.

Solf had not been particularly curious about Danika's family. The less he knew about that ranting old Ishvalan lady, the better. Apparently there was a small tribe of them. If Danika did so much of the cooking, she must have had a real job on her hands. "How many people did you have to cook for?" he asked.

Her pen stilled again. "Well, there's Baata and my uncles, Dozur, Afshan, and Fariad. There's Dozur's wife, Behruk, and Afshan's wife, Nari, and my cousins, Kontar, Nahal, and Saghar. Fariad isn't married, yet. He's still going to school at the community college." She gave a little sigh. "I should write to him and tell him I'm all right. He was kind of worried."

_And no one else was?_ Solf found himself thinking. He wasn't going to ask that out loud and open up a can of family drama. But those people were going to have to cook for themselves now. That actually made him feel kind of smug.

"So King—I mean Principal Bradley—"

Danika let out another giggle. "Is he a king or a principal?"

Despite her remark being a little goofy and child-like, it actually jerked a little smile out of him. King did run the school as a kind of benevolent despot. "No. That's his name. Anyway, he was saying that they can speed up your paperwork so you can start probably Thursday."

"Really?" Danika asked, excited. "I can't wait!"

"I'm supposed to bring you in early so you can get your books and your student ID card, so…uh…make sure you're…you know…up in time."

"Oh, I will!" Danika assured him. She looked back at the class catalog. "Oh! I'll take Culinary Arts for my other elective!"

Solf considered that would be an easy "A". He lifted the lid of the tureen, revealing a fair amount of the soup left, and he helped himself to more. He glanced across the table at Danika as she filled in her class choices. He was visited by a feeling that was weirdly hard to describe. It was vaguely unpleasant, but not because of Danika. He'd felt this way the evening before as well. He found himself picturing the table at his father's house, his father at one end and him at the other. He imagined the dread he felt whenever he sat in that seat and how he hoped he could just get through dinner and that evening's diatribes and get the hell out of there without having his father's claw marks raked across his soul.

That feeling seemed to want to apply itself here like some sort of malevolent imp, hovering around the table and rubbing its little hands together with demonic glee, but it could find no purchase. Solf was sitting at his own table with another person—a new generation of his family, as a matter of fact—eating dinner, and having a normal, stress-free conversation. Well, mostly. But in comparison, yes, definitely.

He was doing something better than his father could do.

The imp shot him a malevolent look and Solf dismissed the image quickly. It was getting weird anyway. But it left him with a feeling a little like he'd just tempted fate.


	16. Chapter 16

There had been an accident at the intersection of Flamel Avenue and Dee Street, holding up traffic for a good twenty minutes. The passing bell had already rung and the last few students were hurrying to their classrooms by the time Andakar finally made it to his. As he stepped in, a room full of faces turned to him, interrupted possibly from speculating on where he was. He was always there first.

One face was unfamiliar, but it was easy enough to guess who she was. This must be the new student Winry had mentioned, Solf Kimblee's daughter.

Kimblee was not a man who endeared himself to people, and he certainly had not done so to Andakar. From what he had observed so far, as well as from remarks made by the other teachers when Kimblee was not around, the picture that was beginning to form was of an effete, smug leach on society. He seemed to represent everything that was wrong with Amestris, a nation that was bleeding Ishval of its resources and giving little in return. How he happened to have a daughter who was part Ishvalan was a mystery that Andakar wasn't sure he wanted to contemplate.

But there she was, and the resemblance was certainly there, with black hair and a pair of bright blue eyes set against her tawny features. Whether she shared any of her father's other characteristics was yet to be seen. She had taken the seat next to Winry, and they had been talking as Andakar entered the room. As the other students settled themselves to begin class, taking out their books or opening their binders, the girl promptly rose to her feet to stand at attention by her desk. In the brief instant that Andakar considered her with surprise, she glanced around at the others, who were all sitting, and her face went from light bronze to a fierce brick red. She immediately dropped back into her seat and ducked her head down a little while some of the other students let out quiet snickers.

It was what Andakar had been used to, but it seemed just as out of place here to him as it did to the other students. It made the gesture that much more touching.

She still looked a little mortified. He had to smile, something he did rarely these days. "Don't be troubled, _laleh_ ," he said to her in Ishvalan. "I appreciate your courtesy. Let it be implied between us."

The girl glanced up at him, making an effort at a bashful smile. "Thank you, _Zhaarad_!" she replied in the same language. "I've done that all the way through school. I didn't even think about it."

Andakar was by no means an elitist, but he could tell a country accent when he heard one. "What district are you from?"

"Lejia, _Zhaarad_."

Ah, that would explain it. He looked at the updated class roster that one of the front office ladies had thrust at him as he hurried through this morning. He'd barely glanced at it at the time. There was her name—Danika Kafik. Not Kimblee. That, too, was deeply telling, and a scenario was already taking shape in his mind and making him angry. He certainly was not going to question the girl about it. It was likely she had already been through enough.

By the end of the period he had placed Danika in the same category as Alphonse and Winry. After her initial timid self-consciousness, she opened up and participated energetically. When the bell rang, she left in the company of Winry and her friends, which Andakar found reassuring. Otherwise, with an anger mounting inside him, the next three classes were hard to get through. He realized he was checking the clock until lunch time as much as his fourth period students were.

...........................................................................

Solf yawned. He had never been a morning person. After the flurry of activity this particular morning—getting Danika's papers turned in and her books and her gym clothes and her ID card—the rest of the morning dragged.

Lunch time came as a relief. He logged off his computer and headed out of his office, wondering what might be available at the staff counter. He realized that he could have brought some of the leftover soup, but that was something to anticipate for when he got home.

He reached the door to the central hallway and reached for the handle. But the door opened and Andakar Ruhad stepped in, nailing him with a red-eyed glare. Or maybe he just did that to everyone.

Solf stepped aside to move past him. "'Scuse me."

Andakar moved with him. "I want to talk to you about your daughter," he said in a tone that sounded kind of ominous.

Solf stared at him, his stomach dropping down to his feet for a moment. "Why? What did she do?"

"She hasn't done anything," Andakar replied. "So far she seems like a model student."

"Oh!" Relieved, Solf brightened. "Well, thanks!"

"Someone raised her right, but it wasn't you."

"Uh…ex _cuse_ me?"

"She's fresh from Ishval. I don't know the circumstances that brought her here, but I can take a guess."

Solf tried to push past him. "Guess away, pal. Just do it on your own time, okay?"

Andakar blocked him again. "She comes from Lejia," he went on relentlessly. "I could tell the moment she spoke that she came from East Ishval."

"So?"

"It's very rural, set apart even from the suburban areas. The people there are deeply conservative."

"Well, okay. Good for them. Do you mind?"

"She wasn't wearing a _chuva_."

That made Solf pause and give Andakar a blank look. "A what?"

Andakar hooked a thumb under the sash across his chest. "This. It's an ancient part of our heritage."

Solf shrugged. "Well, I'm sorry, she showed up without one. I didn't even think about it."

"At first I thought she simply chose not to wear hers, like one of my other students, Rik. But it's more likely that she doesn't have one." Andakar's eyes burned over Solf's features. "Do you know why?"

"You know what?" Solf threw his hands up. "I don't even have a clue! I kind of don't care!"

Andakar nodded, looking grim. "I didn't think so." He pointed to the scar on his face. "Do you know why I have this?"

Solf gave him a dry, deadpan look. "Because you're slow?"

Clearly not the answer he was looking for, if he actually expected one. For a moment, Solf thought the guy was going to punch him. But he continued. "I have this because of the ignorance and the mismanagement and the dismissal of our culture by the Amestrians. It leads to desperation and acts of violence! It leads to this!" He jabbed a finger toward his scar again.

"Okay, you kind of lost me there." Solf waved his hand in a vain attempt to back this up a little. "Are you implying that my 'model student' is gonna try to blow something up?"

Andakar closed his eyes, looking frustrated. Well, gosh, maybe they were just plain destined to be at cross purposes. "No. No, of course not!"

"Then why are we having this conversation?"

"Is there a problem here?"

Olivier stood outside her office door. It was probably the first time Solf was glad to see her.

"Yes, there is!" he declared. "New Guy is giving me crap!"

Olivier considered the two of them for a moment. "Would you both come in my office, please?"

Solf gestured in the general direction of the cafeteria. "It's lunch time!"

"This will only take a minute," Olivier assured him, going back into her office.

Solf shot Andakar a smoldering look as the two of them followed her. He had always made a point of making a trip to the AP's office a humiliating experience. He did not like being on the receiving end.

Olivier closed her door and turned to face them. She frowned and folded her arms. "Has there been some sort of incident?"

"Yes!" Solf insisted at the same moment as Andakar said "No."

Olivier's frown deepened. "Which is it?"

Solf jabbed a finger at Andakar. "First he's getting in my face about my daughter! Then he starts going off about - I don't know - political science or something! My daughter hasn't done anything. I haven't done anything!"

Olivier gave Andakar a cool, expectant look. The Ishvalan let out a long, slow breath of exasperation. "I meant no disrespect," he said. Solf thought his sincerity was highly suspect. "I was concerned that Mr. Kimblee didn't fully appreciate the fact that Danika is Ishvalan. My advice was for him to educate himself on his daughter's culture."

Olivier nodded. "I see. Well, Andakar, I realize that your culture is a sensitive issue for you. We have a diverse student body here at Central East, and we are committed to fostering the understanding of and respect for cultural differences necessary for an enlightened and educated citizenry."

That sounded like something she'd lifted from the school's mission statement, which she probably had memorized.

Andakar didn't look like he was buying it. He turned to Solf. "Some scars form where you can't see them."

Solf just lifted his hands and gave him a _sue my ass_ look.

"Has there, in fact, been an incident?" Olivier asked sternly, adding, "Other than you two butting heads in the hallway?"

"No," Andakar replied before Solf could say anything. "My remarks were based on my own observations. If I have overstepped, I apologize."

_Horseshit_ , Solf thought darkly.

"Good." Olivier gave a decisive nod. "If there's any evidence that any of our staff here isn't living up to this school's commitment," she said to Andakar, "you let me know. In the meantime…" Her icy blue gaze took them both in. "Let's maintain an atmosphere of mutual respect and consideration, shall we?"

"Uh-huh," Solf muttered.

"Of course," Andakar said.

Olivier didn't look a hundred percent satisfied. "Principal Bradley is not here at the moment. I won't pass this conversation on to him as long as it ends here. All right?"

"Fine."

"I understand."

Olivier smiled thinly. "Have a nice lunch."

Andakar took that cue to exit, leaving behind an air of the subject not being resolved as far as he was concerned. Solf felt rather the same way and he lingered for a moment.

"He had no right to speak to me like that!"

Olivier sighed. "Well, Solf, you could probably use a little more cultural sensitivity."

Solf's mouth dropped open. "Hey, up till now, I have been nothing but polite to New Guy! I haven't said a damn thing about his culture!"

Olivier lifted an eyebrow. Solf hated it when she did that. "Are you sure about that? I repeat what I said about you and cultural sensitivity."

"Yes, I am sure!" Solf replied with deliberate slowness. "And I don't have a clue as to why he brought up my kid. I have definitely been nothing but nice to her!" He lowered his voice as Olivier scowled and tapped her finger against her lips. "She's got it pretty damn good now, and she knows it!"

"Yeah, okay," Olivier said, a bit dismissively. "You're the ultimate dad." She let out a puff of air and went on a little more apologetically. "I appreciate the fact that this was very sudden and that it was a big step for you, so I'll give you props for that."

"Oh, thanks."

"But—and I'm saying this for your benefit-"

Solf held his hand up quickly. "Please! Are you listening to yourself? You're starting to sound like King!"

Olivier glared at him and continued. "It might do you some good to learn a little bit about your daughter's culture."

"Maybe it would do her some good to learn a little about mine," Solf countered. "She's not living on Granny's Goat Farm anymore."

Olivier closed her eyes and shook her head. "Okay. You know what? Forget it."

"Gladly."

"Go watch the kids!" Olivier snapped.

Solf left the office and headed for the cafeteria, feeling decidedly bent out of shape. As he crossed the main hallway, he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. Frowning, he pulled it out. A text message alert was displayed on the screen. It was from his father. With a chilled feeling in his chest he tapped the screen.

_Come over for dinner._

Solf nearly groaned out loud. Just what he needed to make this a perfect damn day.

.........................................................................................

This job sucked so much. If he could be bothered to look for another one, he would. Realistically, he had little chance of finding something quite this choice, salary-wise, after only a little over a year of experience. Not on his own, certainly. And King, not to mention Dad, would be unlikely to appreciate his lack of gratitude. He was at least consoled by the fact that he was getting paid more than the teachers.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Mr. Reynolds," he warned a student sitting nearby who was about to stomp on an empty milk carton. It would make a loud popping sound that everyone would think was hilarious and girls would shriek and it would be pandemonium and he wasn't in the mood for that or for other people being amused. If he wasn't happy, ain't nobody happy.

He glanced across the cafeteria to where Danika was sitting. She was at the same table as Winry Rockbell and her crew. They all looked like they were getting on famously, which was kind of a relief. It sort of took her off his hands for a while. Solf bristled slightly. Yes, of course he was a responsible parent! Maybe he had absolutely no clue, not having ever had any positive role models in that area, but he thought he was doing okay so far. So far Danika was pretty low maintenance and absurdly eager to please. As long as certain people didn't find out about her, he'd be okay.

The twist in his gut returned as he recalled the obligation he had to face this evening. It would be that much more uncomfortable, harboring a secret like that and hoping against hope that he wouldn't blurt it out because that was the sort of influence Dad had on him. It was a sort of silent, inexorable pressure to lay his head on the railroad track, as inadvisable as it was to do so. It wasn't even a desire to please the old bastard anymore. Solf had given up on that a long time ago. But old habits died hard.

Danika and Winry had their heads together over a book and were discussing something intently. They both seemed pretty pleased about it. At one point, Danika happened to look up and catch his eye. She smiled and gave him a little wave. He gave her a nod back, not wanting to make an obvious show. On the other hand, there was something he wanted to find out, and despite the fact that it would attract attention, it was still bothering him quite a lot.

He moved unhurriedly toward where Danika was sitting. As soon as she noticed him approaching, she perked up expectantly. Her companions looked toward him but not with the same eagerness, which was fine with him.

_Fear me._

He ignored the others and addressed Danika. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Danika nodded readily. She turned to her friends. "Excuse me." She got up and followed Solf as he stepped over to the wall, hopefully out of earshot of anyone trying to listen in, which would be a feat in itself considering the noise level in here.

"So…uh…how's it going?" he asked her.

"Good!" Danika replied with a smile. "I like all my teachers so far. Winry and I are going to do a history project on Ishval together! Mr. Ruhad loaned her some wonderful books. I was just translating one of them."

Solf nodded. "Okay. Good. Great. Uh…tell me something. Mr. Ruhad. Is he…was he, like, mean to you or anything?"

Danika's eyes widened with surprise. "Oh, no! Not at all! He made me feel very welcome. He even talked to me a little in Ishvalan." She gave a little giggle. "I stood up when he walked in, like I would do in my school in Ishval—"

Solf made a face. "You do that?"

"Oh, yes! We're supposed to show respect for our teachers!"

It sounded like a dangerous practice to Solf. Teachers would get ideas if they started that here. Danika went on. "But of course nobody else did so I was really embarrassed but Mr. Ruhad thanked me anyway."

"Yeah. Okay. Good." Apparently, New Guy's wrath was directly solely toward him. In a way, Solf was a little disappointed. He was looking for something to nail the guy with. Some other time. "Well, that's it, I guess. Oh!" He figured he might as well tell her now while it was still lurking in the dark corners of his mind. "I have to go out tonight so I won't be around for dinner. My father wants me over there."

Danika's expression sobered the way it did whenever his father got mentioned. Her mother must have given her a pretty dire picture of the old misery. She'd gotten a real good look at his ugly side, after all. His uglier side. "Oh." Danika made a little frown. "Do you…um…do you get along with him all right?" she asked cautiously.

His first instinct was to say of course he did because that's what he would say to other people. His private life was no one's business but his own. But Danika was a part of his private life and she seemed to be aware of the situation, if only a little. But that wasn't even what really struck him. There was a very obvious look of concern in her expression. She was actually worried for him.

"Uh…" He let out a quiet, grim chuckle. "Well, I guess it's kind of like how you would have to stand up for your teachers back in Ishval. You might not want to do it, but if you do it, you stay out of trouble."

Danika nodded sagely. "I get it."

Wow.

"So, okay…I'll…uh…see you after school then," Solf said. "You remember where I parked the car?"

Danika nodded. "Right at your parking space!" she said. She had been quite proud of seeing his name on the cement parking block. "I'll meet you there!"

"Good. Okay." He gave her a parting nod and moved away, trying to ignore all the stares the students were giving him. He generally didn't speak to any of them unless they were in trouble. Danika was smiling when he walked away, so everyone must be pretty mystified, which was fine. Little creeps.

They watched her cautiously as she sat back down, trying not to stare too openly or seem too overtly curious. Ed had no such qualms. "What did he say?" he demanded.

Danika just gave a little shrug. "He asked me how I was doing and that he's going to go out this evening."

Ling gave a smirk. "You mean, like a date?"

Lan Fan rolled her eyes. "Wow. Is that any of your business?"

Paninya leaned forward to look past Lan Fan. "Is he going on a date?"

Danika giggled. "No. He's just going to see his father."

"And he's not taking you?" Alphonse asked, a little puzzled. "I mean, that's your grandfather, right?"

"Well, yes, but…" Danika looked away, down at that Ishvalan book she and Winry had been reading.

"Yeah?" Ed prompted her.

"Ed!" Winry warned. "I think it's kind of personal."

"Okay, okay!" Ed shrugged. "I guess I'm just so used to everybody spilling their guts about everything."

"Maybe when she's more comfortable," Lan Fan reasoned. "Until then, we need to respect Danika's boundaries."

Paninya leaned forward again. "But we will totally listen if you need to unload," she said cheerfully. "We're really good at that!"

Danika smiled at her. "Thanks!" She lifted a shoulder. "It's just…well…I guess he…my grandfather…is kind of…mean. I think he…um…doesn't like Ishvalans." She got a sudden look of alarm. "But don't say that I said that!"

Winry held up her hands. "Hey, what happens at this table stays at this table. The lunch ladies come and wipe it clean every day."

"But that would mean—no, don't flap your hand at me!" Ed knocked Alphonse's hand away as his brother tried to warn him to shut up. That never worked. "That would mean that he probably gave your mom a hard time, huh?"

Danika stiffened slightly and gazed at him. Ed felt a little pang of guilt at the realization that he must have hit that particular nail squarely on its head. "Oh…uh…I'm sorry," he stammered.

The others gave him varying looks of disapproval. "And everybody tells me I talk too much," Ling said to no one in particular.

"It's all right!" Danika said. "That's actually true, what you said. But I really shouldn't talk about it."

"No, of course not," Lan Fan agreed.

"I see my _djaari_ once a year," Rik remarked, steering the subject into somewhat safer waters. He grinned. "We go during winter break 'cause it's way too hot to go in the summer."

Danika's smile returned. "Where does he live?"

"In Daliha. Close to Gunja. His family's always been there."

Danika nodded. "My family's had their land forever and they've always kept goats."

"My _baata_ knitted me a goat's wool sweater. It's really soft but it's too small." Rik shook his head. "She thinks I'm still this little kid or something."

Ed bit into his grilled cheese sandwich and chewed thoughtfully while listening to Danika tell them everything they ever wanted to know about goats. On the one hand, it was all kinds of weird having Mr. Kimblee's daughter as part of their circle. On the other hand, she fit right in, something she seemed to be really happy about, almost like she was grateful. Which was kind of sad, in a way. It was like she didn't expect to make friends. She was really nice, which was not something Ed would have suspected from anybody related to Mr. Kimblee, but weirder things have happened. He (and probably everybody else in the cafeteria) had watched the two of them closely as they stepped aside to talk. Mr. Kimblee looked a little uncomfortable. Despite working with kids for a living, AP Kimblee seemed to be pretty clueless. Not too surprising, really.


	17. Chapter 17

Solf pocketed his wallet and his phone and scooped up his keys. Danika hovered near the door. She looked a little nervous. He'd left her alone before, but that was during the day. Now it was dark, and it mattered somehow.

"I probably won't be real late," he said to her. "You ought to be okay." It wasn't like she could call him if there was an emergency. He had gotten rid of his land line a long time ago, and Danika didn't have a cell phone. Not that he would want her to call him while he was at his father's house. That would be awkward.

"Oh, I'll be fine," Danika said. She frowned. "Are _you_ going to be okay?"

"Me? Yeah, of course…well, yeah." It was weird. Kind of cute, but weird, in a cute way. They had this thing in common. Sure, they had other stuff in common, too, like DNA, but they had a sort of…common enemy. They hadn't really talked about it much, and he supposed that as a responsible parent, he ought to not encourage that sort of thing. He should probably be teaching her to respect her elders, especially her own grandfather. But her own grandfather was a self-absorbed, money-loving, misanthropic, misogynistic, insensitive bastard…yeah, fine, people probably thought the same way about him but there really was no comparison. You really had to know Solf Sr. to properly hate his guts.

Anyway, he saw no reason to disabuse Danika of whatever notions she had about the old man. He decided he liked having her totally on his side. Which reminded him…

"Oh, hey, I was going to ask you…you know that stripy sash thing you guys wear? I forget what it's called."

Danika looked a little startled. "A _chuva_?"

"Yeah, that's it. Do you…uh…have one?"

Danika gave a nod. She had kind of a funny expression on her face, almost sad, but not quite. Solf wasn't sure just what he had started here. "Mama made me one. It's in my dresser."

"Oh!" Solf immediately felt relieved and smugly satisfied. "It is, huh?" Smartass New Guy not so smart after all. "But you don't wear it because…why? I mean, that's okay with me. I was just sort of…curious."

Danika looked back at him with solemn eyes, which kind of took the edge off his smug satisfaction. "I don't wear it because you have to give it to me."

"I—" That so did not make sense. "I don't get it. You already have it. It's in your possession, right?"

Danika made a little apologetic grimace. "I'm sorry! I mean…there's a ceremony."

"A ceremony?"

"Mm-hm! It's called a _chuvai_. Fathers give children their _chuvas_ when they turn three."

Solf didn't feel too much more enlightened. "But…your mother gave you one, right? That's not good enough?"

Danika shook her head. That solemn look came back. Solf was beginning to think he wasn't going to like what he was about hear. "No, you see…um…" She looked down at her feet. "It's the father's duty. But you and Mama weren't…married." Her voice trailed off a little at the end and she kept her eyes down, like she was embarrassed.

This was getting awkward and confusing and time-consuming. Solf pulled his phone out and checked the clock. Dad would get pissed if he was late. "Well…uh…no…but, you know…we kind of never got the chance," he managed to say. It was only a half-truth, one that he perpetuated and had convinced himself of.

Danika gave a little nod. "I know. But Mama always hoped that…" She left the rest unsaid, knowing maybe that whatever it was Zamfyra had hoped for would never have happened.

Solf refused to entertain a guilt trip or the idea of going through some outdated religious ritual thing. "Well, this is the twenty-first century. And this is Central City," he reasoned, keeping his tone light but firm enough not to be argued with. "That sort of this isn't so important anymore. So you don't really have to worry about it anymore, okay?"

Danika lifted her chin to look at him. She nodded again and managed a little smile. "Okay."

Well, there. That wasn't so bad. He could bring up the fact that he had given her a bunch of stuff already. A nice room all to herself. A new wardrobe. A life without goats. But he forbore from doing so—nobly, he thought. He told himself that he didn't notice the disappointment in her eyes that she couldn't quite hide, but he still didn't want to look at it anymore.

He turned back to the door. "I'll see you later."

.......................................................................

Marla, the housekeeper, met him in the foyer with a tight-lipped expression.

"Keep your head ducked down, Mr. Solf," she advised under her breath. "He might just snap it off."

Solf handed her his jacket. "Did something happen?"

Marla sighed and gave a weary roll of her eyes. "Does he need a reason?"

Solf Sr. greeted him with a grunt as he entered the dining room and sat down. Dinner was already on the table and Dad had already started. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes with mushroom gravy and green beans almondine. Comfort food. Didn't seem to be doing much good. Dad had never been what anyone could describe as bubbly. Gruff satisfaction was about as cheery as he got. This wasn't going to be one of those days.

"Got hung up in traffic," Solf lied by way of explanation. "Which is weird for this time of the evening."

Dad grunted again. "Considering the way people drive in this town."

No one, of course, ever did anything the way Solf Kimblee Sr. thought they should. He was in a category by himself. Some people might be inclined to argue with him. Others, like his nearest and dearest, were inclined to just agree with him and leave him in his happy place, or whatever it was. Solf gave a nod as Ted set a plate in front of him. "Lotta crazies out there."

Another grunt. Solf couldn't help drawing the comparison, reversed this time, with the dinners he'd had in his own home over the past several days. The company was decidedly more pleasant and the lack of it here was that much more glaring. At the same time that Danika's image came to his mind, though, he had to stifle it because what came up was that wistful, disappointed, kicked puppy look he'd left her with that was really, really bothering him to remember. None of any of that stuff was his fault.

He'd do something else for her. He'd get her a phone. She needed one, after all. A real nice smartphone. She could yak with her friends and get a pink case for it and get it all blinged out and it'd be great. Way better than one of those chupa-thingies.

"What the hell are you smirking at?"

Solf looked up with a little start. "Huh?" Dad was glaring at him from his end of the table. "Uh…nothing! Just something that happened at the school. Nothing important."

Solf Sr. expressed his disinterest with yet another grunt. "So how is King's latest acquisition working out?"

That could be a number of things, but judging by the scathing sarcasm in Dad's voice, Solf took a guess that he meant New Guy. "The Ishvalan?" He shrugged. "He's kind of…" He couldn't very well relate his encounter earlier that day. It would involve a lot of things that he didn't dare mention. "…thin-skinned."

Solf Sr. squinted at him a little. "Huh?"

"About his _culture_ , you know?" Solf waggled his fingers a little for dramatic emphasis. "Touchy."

Dad elevated his reaction from a grunt to a mirthless bark. "Culture! That's a good one! Sonofabitch oughtta be damn grateful he's got a job! Lazy-ass sand monkey!"

There was a time when Solf would have just let a remark like that slide, mainly because he just didn't care. He wasn't going to start arguing now or even politely put forth an opposing view, but this time it bothered him. He didn't expect it to and it took him by surprise. But there it was. He'd been eating Ishvalan-style food for the past several days and he'd received sporadic crash courses in Ishvalan culture whether he'd wanted them or not. He'd been shown a glimpse of the other side of the object of his father's contempt and now it felt as though he was obliquely catching some of that flack. It made him really uncomfortable.

"The market was up!" he announced brightly in an attempt to divert the conversation.

Solf Sr. glanced at him with a curious, slightly suspicious look. "Yeah? So?"

Normally that was something of a cause for joy. "Just saying."

Solf Sr. shook his head and attacked his portion of meatloaf. After a moment of chewing, he grumbled, "I don't get it!"

He left it at that for a moment, leaving Solf to wait for him to follow up on that remark. Not that he was anxious to hear the rest, but being the obedient son that he was, he prompted, "What don't you get, Dad?"

"I was over at the bank today," Dad began. He did that sort of thing. Most people did their banking online, but Dad was old-fashioned in a lot of ways. "I just wanted to chew the fat with Joe Hodges, you know, the manager. Old buddy. Just making sure he's still taking good care of the place," he added with a short, husky chuckle. _Yeah, Dad, whatever_. If they'd let him, he'd probably ask to be let into the vault so he could fondle his money. It would be more affection than he ever showed his family.

"So I'm in the lobby," Dad went on. "And this couple of Ishvalans walk in. They've got two little ones and one on the way, from the looks of it." There was revulsion in his voice. "They've got a check in their hands. I could see all the way from where I was that it government issue. The guy's on a crutch, probably faking an injury so he doesn't have to work."

Well, that explained why Dad's shorts were in a wad. His whole day just degenerated because he saw some poor Ishvalan slob trying to cash his disability check and that's the end of Western Civilization.

"I've never asked for a handout from anybody!" Dad continued. "I worked two jobs straight outta high school blah blah blah…"

It was all Solf could do not to roll his eyes and groan. He'd heard this speech so many times and as far back as he could remember.

"…blah blah blah my first million by the time I was twenty-five! Twenty-five, Solf!"

_No! Really, Dad? I had no idea. Tell me more_.

"And here are these people coming over here and living on my taxes and breeding like rats and having more kids than they can afford and my own son doesn't even have a girlfriend!"

That would be a really strange sequence of statements coming out of anyone else's mouth. It was typical, however, of his dad, who managed to attack two of his favorite peeves in one sentence. And there was spitting involved. Solf gazed down at his plate, possibly put off meatloaf for life.

"I told you before, Dad," he said wearily. "I'm just, you know, waiting for the right woman to come along."

Solf Sr. gave a sniff of contempt. "That is such bullshit! All you need is some girl who'll make you look good and pump out a couple of kids and not sleep around! What about those young ladies who were at that party I gave here…whenever that was? Remember?"

"Oh, yes, I remember. Rich girls gone wild? Maybe you don't remember how they got jacked up on ketamine and thought they were all underwater and started swimming. Didn't show them in the best light."

"Are you sure about that?" Solf Sr. scowled suspiciously. "I thought it was some sort of party game."

"It was."

"Yeah…well…you spent college high on whatever!" Solf Sr. shot back.

"I stuck to weed. I didn't need anything stronger." Being away from home was euphoric enough.

Solf Sr. waved it off. "Well…those were the daughters of some good friends of mine."

That wasn't a testament in their favor. Solf definitely did not want to be related to any of his father's friends.

"You need to start thinking about carrying on the Kimblee line, son! I don't want my money out of the family! So quit screwing around and get busy!" Dad eyed him critically. "You're not bad looking." That didn't sound like much of a compliment. "You're healthy, right? Everything works?"

_Wow, Dad, you're such a romantic_. "As far as I know," Solf replied, letting a touch of dry sarcasm enter his tone.

"I'm not talking about your bimbos or your one night stands, either!" Dad furiously stabbed a stack of green beans onto his fork. "I'm talking about you getting serious. Right woman, my ass! You don't have to be too particular. Hell, I wasn't, and I did okay, mostly!"

Solf stiffened. There was so much blame in the emphasis of that last word but none of it fell on the speaker. Oh no. It was Mom's fault for dying. It was her fault for producing a single son that had yet to live up to his father's expectations. But nothing could possibly be Solf Kimblee Sr's fault. No sir. Not Solf-Two-Jobs-Outta-High-School-120-Hours-A-Week-No-Handouts-From-Anybody-Kimblee Sr.

Another couple of swallows of wine gave Solf a moment of courage. Or idiocy. "Nobody told you how to run your life, either, did they?" he remarked.

If Dad's glare could strip varnish off the hardwood floors, it would have just then. "Some people seem to need an occasional kick in the pants because they're sitting around on their asses living the high life." He shook his fork at Solf. "That's the problem with giving your kids everything you didn't have 'cause they don't appreciate it and they don't learn a goddam thing! I should've booted you outta here when you were eighteen and made you fend for yourself like I did! Maybe then you wouldn't be such a whiney little bitch!" He piled a chunk of meatloaf and a blob of mashed potatoes onto the back of his fork with his knife. "So don't try to get smart with me, Solf! It's a losing battle!"

Well, that was true enough. He'd pretty much lost the battle when he walked through the door, coming when he was whistled for.

"Anyway," Dad started up again, calmer but just as gruff. "You think about what I said. Start getting busy, son."

If there was any possible upside to this, it seemed that Dad didn't know about Danika. Kind of ironic. He had, in fact, produced an heir, but she would be entirely unacceptable. He could possibly pass her off as just a dark-skinned Amestrian, but he'd have to come up with a whole collection of other lies on top of that. He'd also have to make Danika go along with it. After all, she owed him a lot—taking her in, giving her a home, buying her stuff. For a moment, it almost sounded feasible.

A moment later, it didn't. For one thing, Danika probably couldn't pull it off. She was too…wholesome. She was probably a really bad liar. Plus…well…she'd have to deny everything she was. Moral fortitude was never Solf's strong point, but something in the back of his mind was telling him it would be wrong. He would end up being like his father, forcing his agenda onto his child. That in itself turned him off of the idea.

Right now, all he wanted to do was get through dinner and go home.

"Sure, Dad."


	18. Chapter 18

He had gotten used to running in his bare feet. It's what he did while in the desert. He would go early in the morning while the sand was still cool, but not so early that he couldn't see what he might step on. The cool, moist air of Central felt thick compared to the desert, but it felt good to exert himself like this.

Grass was something of a novelty and having so much of it in one place was unheard of in Ishval. It was not as yielding as sand, but it felt good under his feet. This park wasn't too far of a walk from the apartment and even less of a run, and at this time of the morning it was deserted. He needed the solitude.

He swerved slightly to avoid an empty soda can lying in the grass and then hopped over part of a broken bottle. The park was narrow, but deep. Its perimeter was probably a little over half a mile. It had a paved bike path, which would have presented fewer hazards, but the grass still felt better.

He hadn't slept well the night before. He'd even moved to the floor—he still had trouble sleeping on a mattress. The conversation he'd had with Kimblee still rankled.

He would be told that it really wasn't any of his business. He would be told that he overreacted. Maybe that was so. But he was sure that his assumptions were right. It was typical of the whole offhand, indifferent, patronizing attitude Amestrians had toward Ishvalans, as though having more rainfall and more fertile soil made them superior.

It was the sort of thing that sent Rastin into a rage, and although Andakar condemned his methods, he felt the same rage and frustration. It was the same frustration he always met with when advocating for his people's rights within the Amestrian system. He spoke, he counselled, he led by example, but more often than not, he came up against the same monolithic resistance. He was cautioned, even by some of his own colleagues (not Rastin, certainly), to not antagonize anyone. _Don't bite the hand that feeds you! Don't stir up too much trouble! Let's maintain an atmosphere of mutual respect and consideration, shall we?_

Yes, he shared Rastin's rage, but to give in to it the way Rastin did was a kind of defeat. No, not defeat. Despair. They had that in common as well. Despair was what had finally killed Rastin, revealing itself unmasked in all its horror when they told him he'd killed his own sister. Andakar had taken his own despair out into the desert as his sole companion and his greatest foe.

His feet slowed. He wasn't tired or winded, but he was once again visited by the weight of helpless futility. He paused, bending forward and leaning against his knees. Then he straightened up and lifted his face to the sky, still dim with its blanket of lead-colored clouds and the sun not quite risen. While in the desert he would often stand like this, struggling against anger and hopelessness, utterly alone. He drew a deep breath and let out a screaming roar that spread out and clung to the damp air with a dull echo. For a moment, it gave him a sense of relief, but that quickly faded, leaving him with not much more than a sore throat. Somewhere in the distance, some dogs barked.

"That was kind of impressive."

Andakar's head whipped around. Nearby was a playground that took up much of the center of the park. It was surrounded by a ring of mature trees. He moved slightly and could now see the swing set past the wide trunk of an elm. Sitting in one of the swings was Rose. Andakar was sure the park was empty, but he must have been more preoccupied than he thought. Now he felt a little foolish.

He didn't really want to have to explain himself or even talk to anyone. If this was a complete stranger he would have just left. But it might somehow make its way to Mattas, who would worry or confront him. He supposed he was obliged to say something. He walked over to the edge of the sand-filled playground.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't think anyone else was here."

Rose lifted her shoulders, completely untroubled by his outburst. "Kind of sounded like an I'm-so-done-with-everything primal scream, which I'm totally cool with. Either that or you stepped on a piece of glass. I mean, you're kind of asking for it, running in your bare feet."

"No, I didn't step on anything." He happened to look down at her feet while he wondered why she was here. "Your feet are bare," he added.

Rose curled her toes up so they poked out of the sand. Her toenails were painted in various colors. She tilted her head to nod toward where a pair of green flip-flops lay in the sand near the swing set. "I walked here in those."

"Oh. Do you live close by?"

Rose waved a hand over her shoulder without turning around. On the other side of a wall that ran along the opposite side of the park was an apartment building. "Second floor, third balcony from the end. Park view costs extra." She gripped the chain of the swing again and leaned her head against her hand. "You haven't been there yet," she added, simply as a point of fact.

"No, I haven't. I was invited, but…" He didn't elaborate.

Rose shook her head. "Don't worry about it. Lucy is a really awesome person but she can be kind of pushy. Not mean pushy. Assertive, you know. In a really good way. But, yeah. Pushy. Or maybe I just feel that way now 'cause…well…I'm just not responding to being pushed right now." She backed herself up a few steps and then lifted her feet, pumping her legs with a sudden burst of energy, the arc of her swing taking her gradually higher. "See? I can swing all by myself." She laughed a little. "Sorry, that sounded weird."

It did, but not much. He understood what she meant and he would have told her so, but conversations were difficult enough, never mind having one with someone who was slicing back and forth through the air on a swing.

She was dressed in what was probably her pajamas—long, loose pants with a design of popsicles all over them and a zip-up hoodie that blew open on her forward swings to reveal a black camisole. She seemed much more intent on her activity than on him so it seemed as good a time as any to leave. He lifted his hand in a slightly awkward wave and began to turn away.

"Am I scaring you away?" Rose thrust out her heels to drag into the sand and stop herself.

Andakar looked back at her. She looked genuinely concerned that he would say yes. "Of course not. I have to get back home, and if I run I can make it in twenty minutes."

"Oh. Okay. Good. I mean, good that I'm not scaring you away. I wish I could scream like you did. That would be awesome!"

Andakar lifted his hands a little. "Go ahead."

Rose shook her head. "No, it might get weird. I mean, people hear a woman screaming and see a guy running away, they're gonna get the wrong idea and I don't want to get you in trouble."

"Well…I appreciate that."

"No problem."

He'd sort of lost his momentum for leaving so he lingered. "You're here very early," he remarked for lack of anything better.

"So are you."

"I have to be at school by eight so I exercise as early as I can."

"I have to be at the coffee shop by seven-thirty," Rose said. "It's actually my late morning. Lucy went in early to open up. We take turns."

Andakar nodded. "I should go."

"Okay. Oh, hey!" Rose spoke up again. "Remember when you were in on Saturday? With Miles?"

Andakar wondered if she was just searching for things to say to keep him there. "Yes?"

"I was feeling kind of snarky that day and I said some stuff that probably wasn't even any of my business so I'm sorry and you can just forget about what I said."

Andakar had to think for a moment to recall what she was talking about.

_You know, most people do something really stupid at least once in their lives._

_Whether it's dozens of people or just one, it's all sort of relative. The loss is still there and it still really, really hurts. I'm just saying that you're not…you know…alone._

"Oh." Andakar suspected that she was bothered less by the possibility of having been rude than by having revealed more than she wanted to. "Consider it forgotten."

"Okay. Cool." She gave a nod. Then she said, "But I guess in a way, I actually meant to be nice. It just didn't come out that way."

"It's all right," Andakar assured her. "I understand."

"Okay. But I meant what I said."

"I thought you wanted me to forget about it."

"Yeah, I know, but…" She blew out a breath, a little exasperated. "Okay, don't forget about it _completely_. Just don't think that I was getting up in your business or anything."

"I wasn't offended."

"Oh, good."

It was almost like talking to a child. Endearing and little puzzling.

"Lucy wants me to get therapy, but I don't want to talk about it."

"You're talking to me," Andakar remarked. "This is the longest conversation we've ever had."

Rose gave a little wag of her head, grudgingly conceding the point. "I guess it is," she mused. "You're easy to talk to."

No one had ever accused him of that. "I am?"

"Yeah, you are." Rose broke into a smile. It was brief, but it transformed her. "Maybe because you told me to go ahead and let out a scream. Lucy would've been horrified. I mean, she…" Now she frowned, either deciding what to say or deciding whether to say it at all. "If she'd gone through what I did, she probably would've handled it better, but then she probably wouldn't have done what I did in the first place, you know?"

He didn't. She was talking in riddles as far as he could tell, but she seemed to be expecting some sort of reply. "I know something of your misfortune," he said cautiously. "But not very much."

"Oh!" Rose looked surprised. "I'm sorry! I figured Lucy just blabbed the whole thing to your brother."

Andakar shook his head. "All he told me was that the man you were going to marry had died."

Rose's eyes widened a little. "That's all?"

"That's all." Andakar paused, then added, "I'm sorry for your loss." A little late, but it wasn't as though he'd had the chance until now.

Rose gave a distracted nod to his words. "I'm kind of surprised. Lucy doesn't hold back much. I mean, I probably know more about what happened to you from listening to your brother. Seems kind of unfair."

"It doesn't matter," Andakar said. "You don't have to tell me anything. I didn't tell Mattas everything, either." He was surprised to have admitted that.

Rose looked down at her multi-colored toes, scrunching them and flexing them in the sand. She was silent for several moments, then the words came tumbling out quickly. "He had pancreatic cancer. It had already spread, so there wasn't much they could do. I got desperate—"

"You don't have to—"

"—and I dragged him over to that Church of Leto place, to that guy, Reverend Cornello. He was supposed to be able to heal people. We went five different times. Every time—"

"Why are you—"

"—Cornello put on a big show in front of all those people, but it didn't help. Patrick died anyway and Cornello blamed me for not having enough faith! So I put Patrick through that whole circus and all that humiliation for nothing instead of letting him die with dignity because I was so desperate not to lose him! So I guess you think that was pretty stupid and selfish!"

Her hands gripped the chains of the swing until her knuckles were white. She was practically glaring at him, daring him to agree with her.

Andakar shook his head. He'd had enough people tell him to not blame himself and they couldn't understand why he was unable to take their advice. "I'm in no position to judge you."

"Well… _I_ think it was stupid and selfish!"

"That's your right."

"Good!" Rose snapped. "I'm glad we got that cleared up!" A moment later she dropped her head down and covered her face with her hands. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry!"

The silence that followed was awkward, but probably more for her than for him. He was as untroubled by her outburst as she had been of his.

"Don't be sorry. Not on my account." He hesitated before adding, "I understand."

She dropped her hands in her lap and considered her toes again. "Thanks. I guess I figured you would."

"Because most people do something really stupid at least once in their lives?"

Rose looked back up with a little rueful smile. "I guess so."

It was probably getting close to six o'clock by now. "I really do have to go."

"Okay. I'll probably see you later, at the shop."

Andakar nodded. "Probably."

"Oh hey!" Rose said quickly as he turned away. "Don't tell your brother that we talked about this stuff! He'll probably tell Lucy."

"I won't." He could see the reasoning in that. As well-meaning as their respective siblings were, they didn't need to know everything.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am touching on the rather dark subject of online sexual predators. Not deeply, but just to let you know.

Detective Buccaneer had an intimidating presence. He looked like he ate puppies for breakfast. In actuality, his four daughters, around whose various fingers their daddy was thoroughly entwined, had a small menagerie which was entirely safe from being consumed. But Buck still scared people. Miles always felt very safe in his company.

The two of them had returned, as promised, to East Central High.

"This should help your students get started on their anti-drug campaign," Miles said. "Of course, you'll want to encourage them to come up with their own ideas."

Miles handed Olivier a large manila envelope. They were gathered in a small meeting room in the administration office. They were all in on this exchange, but Miles generally addressed himself to Ms. Armstrong. Bradley maintained an outwardly proprietary attitude toward his school but he let his underlings do all the donkey work, and it didn't take a police detective to figure out that Kimblee was just there to pick up a paycheck. Olivier didn't hand things that mattered off to other people.

But it was Bradley who spoke up. "Thank you, Detective! I appreciate all the work you boys have put into this."

"Not at all," Miles replied. It was one thing for their police commander to refer to them as "boys", but it didn't sit well coming from outside the force. He let it slide. "While we're here," he went on, "there's another issue that we'd like to talk to you about." He turned to his partner. "This is kind of your baby, Buck."

The large detective, who stood nearly a head taller than his Ishvalan partner, gave a nod as the administrators turned to him. "Yeah, this is a lot more insidious than drugs and alcohol." His eyes flicked toward a poster on the wall. He had noticed a similar one in the office lobby. One panel showed a creepy silhouette of a man hunched over a computer. The panel facing it showed a child sitting at a laptop. The caption above the pictures stated _Friend Requests Aren't Always Innocent_ and below the pictures was _Know Who You're Talking To_. Buck gave a grim smile of approval.

"You got posters like that around the school where the kids can see them?" he asked.

Olivier looked over at the poster and nodded. "Yes, we do." She turned back to the detective. "We have a number of posters around the school with a variety of safety warnings. We would like to think this is a perfect world, but it isn't. There are also warnings about other issues like cyber bullying." She folded her arms. "We have a zero-tolerance policy at this school on that sort of thing, and you can bet I enforce it."

Miles would bet his pension on it.

"Good." Buck pointed to the envelope in Olivier's hands. "I stuck in a draft of a letter you might want to take a look at. It's entirely up to you whether you'd like to send it out to the parents."

"Oh?" Olivier opened up the envelope and after peering inside, she slid out a sheet of paper. Bradley moved closer to her to read over her shoulder. Olivier's eyebrows went up and she nodded. "Yes, I think this would be an excellent idea." She turned to her supervisor, even though Miles was sure it was already a done deal. "What do you think, Mr. Bradley?"

Bradley took the letter and a darkly brooding frown formed on his face as he read it through. "Yes…yes, certainly! We need to protect our kids!" He handed the letter to Kimblee. "This hits you a little closer to home now, Solf."

Miles wondered what Bradley meant by that. AP Kimblee took the letter and glanced over it with an expression of puzzlement and mild distaste. "Why do you…Oh!" The puzzlement disappeared but the distaste remained. "Oh. Yeah." He handed the letter back. "Yeah, this is…you know…pertinent…definitely."

"You took the words right out of my mouth, Mr. Kimblee," Olivier said, a hint of dryness in her tone. She turned back to the detectives. "Rest assured, gentlemen. We'll get the word out ASAP."

"I appreciate that, Ms. Armstrong," Buck said. "There's been a slight increase in activity lately."

"How do you keep track?" Bradley asked.

Buck glanced at Miles, silently conferring. After a moment, Miles gave a slight nod and Buck turned back to the others. "I'll let you folks in on a little secret. I'm part of a covert internet investigation task force for catching sexual predators." He smiled grimly. "I go online and pose as a thirteen-year-old girl."

Kimblee let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Are you serious?"

Buck gave him a steady, hard look. "Dead serious. The minute I go online"—he snapped his fingers, making Kimblee flinch—"I've got dozens of men wanting to talk to me. Been doing it for a couple of years now. "

Kimblee raised a dubious eyebrow. "And you actually pull it off?"

It was an understandable question. Buck stood at 6'8" in his socks, pressed 200 pounds without thinking about it, and sported a mohawk. The steely look he fixed Kimblee with haunted the dreams of a lot of folks who were now behind bars, and the smile he smiled was a comfort to no one.

"It's a little like fishing," Buck explained. "You dangle some bait, pretending to be something you're not, then you reel 'em in!" His smile faded. "But it isn't funny. We've caught a lot of them, but there are way too many of these people out there. Right now I've got about a hundred and fifty active cases."

Olivier gazed at him somberly, looking like she would like to personally get her hands on some of those perps. "That must be terrifying!"

Buck gave a nod. "Yeah, it can get a little depressing, especially when I think about my girls. But I make sure they're careful about their online activities. I don't give them a lot of details, but I do warn them." His smile reappeared, more like a father than a cop. "I'm a little more open with my seventeen-year-old, and she's actually helped me from time to time, giving me tips on how to sound convincing."

"Well, I wish you all the best in your work, Detective!" Bradley declared, standing up and extending his hand to shake Buck's. "And you can bet that we'll do our part as far as education."

"We appreciate your help, Principal Bradley," Buck replied.

The two detectives headed out the main doors. Buck grimaced as he peeled the bright green "visitor" sticker off his jacket and let out a sigh.

"You think we gave away too many trade secrets back there?" he remarked.

Miles shrugged. "I think we can rely on our school officials to be discreet. Even if they do…uh…gossip, I'm not sure it would make much of a difference. The pervs are so addicted they're willing to take chances." He pulled his keys from his pocket. "Principal Bradley is all about keeping his school squeaky clean. Kimblee seems like he could care less."

Buck glanced at his partner. "And Ms. Armstrong?"

Miles smiled a little. "I would trust that woman with my life. I mean," he added in reply to the smirk on his partner's face, "if it came to it." He shrugged. "It's just a vibe I get."

"I know what you mean," Buck said with a nod. "She'd make a good cop."

"She'd make a hell of a cop."

Buck laughed. "And if she was, you'd dump me as your partner."

Miles chuckled and clapped him on the back. "In a heartbeat."

...................................................................

"It's kind of late, isn't it?"

_"Well, I figured you'd be up."_

"Uh-huh…so…you got anything new?"

_"I have some information."_

"Okay, let's have it."

_"You need to be careful."_

"That's it? That's the information?"

_"Are you aware that there are cops who are running sting operations on guys like you?"_

"Don't you mean guys like us?"

_"I'm just a collector."_

"Well, sometimes I need to find stuff to collect. Sometimes I have to create my own. There's this guy up in Drachma who says he's got some very choice material, but I have to come up with something fresh to exchange. That's the way this works."

_"Yes, I'm aware of that!"_

"Don't get testy!"

_"I'm doing you a favor. You need to be very careful who you give personal information to."_

"Oh, I know. 'Friend requests aren't always innocent!' 'Know who you're talking to!'"

_"It's not funny. They can find you."_

"And if they find me, they'll find you. I wonder which of us would fall the hardest."

_"I think you mean which one of us would_ land _the hardest."_

"Sure. Whatever. I'm really touched by your concern, but I can handle myself."

_"Huh! I expect that's what you're doing right now."_

"Yeah, and I kind of need this time to myself, if you don't mind!"

_"Fine. I'll talk to you later. Just remember what I said."_

"Uh-huh."


	20. Chapter 20

This was an older neighborhood. Autumn leaves clustered neglected against curbs and across lawns. The houses here had to be at least forty or fifty years old. They gave Solf the creeps, like the setting for a horror movie. People could easily have died in those houses. Solf preferred new buildings, the newer the better, with little to no associated history.

"How much further?" he asked, a little tense impatience in his voice.

Danika checked the map she had printed out the night before. "It should be just another couple of streets." She looked up for a moment, then pointed. "There it is! You can see the dome!"

Solf followed where she was pointing. A shiny red dome-shaped thing rose in the near distance, above the roofs of the houses along their right. Crossing one more street and drawing closer to the end of the next block, the houses gave way to a corner lot that was taken up by a mostly octagonal structure. It wasn't huge, but it was taller than anything around it. It was painted a sort of rosy beige, and there were decorative tiles set into the stucco at intervals. On top was a dome made of what looked like glossy red tiles, larger than those on the walls. It looked newer than the nearby houses, but not by much.

A couple of cars were turning in to the small parking lot; others were parking along the street. People—Ishvalans—were walking along the sidewalk and up the front steps.

It was a solid half-hour drive from the apartment. Danika had asked him several days ago if he would drive her there. She had offered to take the bus, but there was something so profoundly distasteful about that idea. He had never been on a bus in his life. The thought made his skin crawl. He agreed to drive her. It was Saturday morning and he really didn't have anything better to do. Except sleep, maybe.

He slid his RX8 up to the curb just past the main entrance. A sign painted across a series of yet more glazed tiles set into a rectangular brick structure close to the sidewalk said Temple of Ishvala. Prayer Services 9 am. This was actually below a line of complete unintelligible characters that Solf barely glanced at. Below all of that was the street number.

Solf gave the temple and the people who were entering it a vaguely curious but slightly suspicious look. "So, how long is this supposed to take?"

"About an hour, usually," Danika replied. She was wearing one of the dresses she had brought with her, her "best" one, she said. That was a purely subjective estimation, in Solf's opinion, but it wouldn't matter much here. As she reached for the door handle she turned to him. "Thank you so much, Father!"

"Yeah, no problem." Not yet, anyway. "I'll be back in an hour, then."

Danika got out of the car, closed the door, and waved as she walked toward the steps. Solf knew he should just drive away, but he lingered for just a moment to watch the girl go up the steps. He hadn't really looked at any of the other people until Danika waved to someone. Of course it had to be New Guy Ruhad. He was with another guy who wore glasses, and he spoke some greeting to Danika. As hard as he tried not to, Solf ended up making eye contact with Ruhad. In just that brief instant he was sure he saw all kinds of judgment in that look. Scowling, Solf turned away quickly and pulled away from the curb. Bastard. He drove all this way to bring Danika to her damn temple, didn't he? _She_ appreciated it anyway. Jerk.

Now what was he going to do? There was no point in driving home only to have to come right back. He didn't want to hang around Silent Hill for an hour, either. They had driven through a small business district a mile or so back. Maybe there was some place he could get a coffee. He made a U-turn and headed back the way he came.

.......................................................................................................................................

"I'm honored, _Zhaarad_ Ruhad!" Danika gave a little bob of her head. Andakar had half expected her to touch Mattas' hand to her forehead. She seemed to give the slightest flinch as though she was about to and then thought better of it and simply shook his hand. Andakar certainly didn't think any less of her for it, but he couldn't help but blame Kimblee for it somehow, as if he was actively trying to break her of all her old habits.

"Nice to meet you, too, Danika," Mattas replied. He grinned. "Actually, you can call me Dr. Ruhad so I know you're not talking to my brother."

Danika looked a little surprised. "I thought you were a teacher, too."

"Doctor of Linguistics," Mattas explained.

"Oh!" Danika nodded.

Everyone started to move inside. A number of people glanced at Danika as they walked by. She was a new face, after all, and Andakar could tell that they were trying to decide where to place her. There would probably be a lot of gossip after prayers. Danika held back a little, timidly letting others enter before her. Rik and his family stepped by, and the two young people exchanged a quick wave, but Danika still hesitated.

Andakar leaned down a little. "You can stand with us, Danika," he said quietly.

Danika drew in a quick breath and glanced up at him gratefully. "Thank you, _Zhaarad_ Ruhad!"

They went inside and _Saahad Bozidar_ , the senior priest, began with the opening exhortation. The ancient chants flowed back and forth, the congregation splitting into simple harmonies that had remained unchanged for generations. At Andakar's side, Danika sang along in a sweet, high voice. The temple wasn't a place to show off, but there was no point in stifling what you were gifted with.

.............................................................................................................................................

The disarmingly innocent residential area gave way to an equally innocent-looking cluster of small storefronts, small offices, and small cafes. It was probably considered charming. It looked like it had been struggling to experience a renaissance for the past several decades. After driving past Eddie's Hardware, Mari's Hair Salon, and Fat Kat Books and Gifts and nearly gagging on all the homespun-ness of it all, he spotted a place called La Sorelle. That name rang a bell. He had heard a couple of the teachers mentioning it once or twice. Not much of a recommendation, but it was better than nothing. It was certainly better than Granny Fanny's Waffles and Flapjacks. That was so not happening.

There was a small parking lot next to La Sorelle and Solf pulled into it, parking as far from the other cars in the lot as he could. As he got out of the car and pressed the lock button on his key fob, he glanced around at the intersection. It was a pleasant morning, he supposed. There had been a light drizzle the night before, and the air was cool. People were out on the sidewalks, going in and out of the nearby shops, some stopping to talk to each other. It looked like a stereotypically idyllic Amestrian morning. Either that or all these people were actually robots and as soon as they found out he wasn't from around here they would turn on him and rip him apart. Solf shook his head and went into the coffee shop. This place was getting to him.

The interior of La Sorelle had a much more calming atmosphere. It reminded Solf a little of places he'd visited on his vacations in Donbachi and Aerugo. Southern and warm and relaxing. The walls were a creamy pale russet with grape vines stenciled above the doorways and around the top of the walls. The place was fairly busy but not packed. And the aroma of ground coffee was fabulous!

"Welcome to La Sorelle!" a voice called out. It was a nice voice, rich and promising. It belonged to an extremely attractive woman with her dark wavy hair pinned up with expert quickness. She stood behind the counter, wearing a dark red apron. The name "Lucy" was embroidered across the top.

Solf stepped up to the counter. He gave her a smile. "It smells wonderful in here!"

"Of course it does," Lucy replied, smiling back. She set a cup out on the corner of the counter. "Skinny salted caramel latte, no whip, for Sheldon!" she called out.

Sheldon shuffled up and retrieved his beverage, and Lucy turned back to Solf. He was glad he had taken the trouble of his weekday grooming instead of settling for his scruffy weekend look.

"What can I get started for you?"

How about some trouble was nearly on the tip of Solf's tongue, but although Lucy was considering him with an appraising look, it wasn't an interested look. Probably seeing someone. Witty pick-up banter would be a wasted effort.

Solf glanced at the menu board. "I'll have a mocha cappuccino, extra hot."

Another young woman came scurrying from a doorway behind the counter, hastily tying the strings of her apron. "I'm back, I'm back, I'm back!" she said in a rapid whisper.

Lucy gave her an indulgent look. "Could you get a mocha cappuccino started for this gentleman? Extra hot. I have to go fill the milk pitchers."

The other woman reached toward the stacks of cups. "What size?" she asked, looking at Solf.

Her apron had the name Rose embroidered on it. It was pretty clear that she and Lucy were related, probably sisters. They were both very pretty, but there was a kind of vulnerability in Rose's wide violet eyes that Lucy didn't have. Those eyes were considering him now as they would any other customer, his potential as a source of profit, which was totally fair. But he was suddenly struck by her potential.

How awesome would it be if he could show up at the next dinner summons boasting of a girlfriend? Okay, so she was a lowly barrista with pink hair. He didn't think Dad would be all that particular at this point.

His pulse quickened a little. He generally avoided challenges, but sometimes you just had to make an effort. He glanced calmly back up at the menu board. "Grande?"

Rose grabbed a cup. "Medium. Grande is the other place trying to sound authentic."

"Oh. My bad." Solf flashed a humble self-deprecating smile.

Rose picked up a marker. "Can I get your name?"

"Solf."

Rose lifted an eyebrow, his name possibly striking her as odd but she was too polite to say so. She nodded and wrote his name on the cup. "Anything sweet to go with that?"

Oh, now, that was just too easy. Subtler means were called for. Solf looked down at the pastry case. He had to admit, this stuff looked pretty good. "Nice," he commented, impressed. He glanced back up at Rose. "Did you make all this?"

Rose looked surprised. "Me? No. That's Gleb's job."

That threw him a little. "Gleb?"

"He's from Drachma," Rose explained. She gave a little shrug. "I mean, we help…"

Solf went pack to perusing the pastries. "How about a scone?"

Rose grabbed a pair of tongs. "Blueberry or cinnamon?"

"Cinnamon."

"You want it warmed up?"

"I'm sure it's fine just the way it is," Solf said.

Rose set the scone on a plate and set it on the counter. "I'll have your mocha in just a sec."

"No rush," Solf assured her. He broke a corner off the scone and put it in his mouth. It was moist and flaky. "Mmm! Nothing says lovin' like something from the oven!"

Okay. Lame, admittedly. He had hoped that would at least get a smile out of her but if it did, her back was to him as she busied herself packing coffee into a portafilter. As a matter of fact, he had yet to see her smile at all. Did she have issues? A set of matched emotional baggage or just a little carry-on? Maybe insecure, hiding in Big Sister's shadow? Dyed her hair to break out a little? He knew what trying to get out of someone else's shadow was like. Wow. They had something in common already.

A pale, pudgy man came out from the back room carrying a tray that held a sheet of glistening golden pastries sliced into triangles. Solf guessed this was Gleb. Time to come off as All-Around Nice Guy. "Those look amazing!"

Gleb gave a little chuckle. "They taste amazing!" he declared in a thick accent. "Is Ishvalan honey pastry!"

Solf felt vaguely like he was being stalked. "Ishvalan? Seriously?"

"Just like Mama used to make," Gleb slid the tray into the display case. "If Mama was Ishvalan."

"Is this to go?" Rose asked over her shoulder.

"Uh…" Solf glanced around the shop. A table just became vacant. "No, I'm going to hang out here for a little while."

Rose nodded. She steamed the milk a little extra, then poured it into the espresso, spooning the foam from the pitcher. She snapped a cap onto the cup and set it on the counter. Tapping the keys on the register, she looked at Solf. "That'll be six-fifty."

Solf handed her a credit card and she slid it through the card reader. She handed him his card and his receipt. "Thanks!"

"Thank _you_." Solf sat down at an unoccupied bistro table by the window and sipped at his cappuccino, which was hot to the point of scalding, exactly the way he liked it. He took out his phone to have something to kill the next forty-five minutes with. No voice mails, a text from Grey suggesting they hang sometime, some junk emails. Munching on his scone, he opened his Battle Cats app.

_Time misspent in youth is sometimes all the freedom one ever has_.

"I'll say," Solf murmured to himself.

He glanced up as Rose came out from behind the counter to briskly wipe down the other tables as they became vacant. He did not make a habit of conversing with minimum wage laborers, but the stakes were high.

"This is a nice little place," he remarked.

"Yeah, it's pretty nice," Rose replied a little distractedly, scooping some crumbs off the edge of one of the tables into her hand. "It's Lucy's pride and joy."

"Lucy's?" Solf asked, surprised. "She owns it?"

"Technically it's ours. We opened it together but she's basically in charge." Rose gave the seat of one of the chairs a quick wipe.

That put a little different complexion on things. A couple of entrepreneurs. Dad would love that.

"Well, you ladies sure know what you're doing." Solf raised his paper cup in a salute and favored her with a warm smile. "This is the best cappuccino I've ever had."

Rose bobbed her head. "Awesome!" she remarked. And then she moved off to return to her spot behind the counter.

Solf sat back and idly turned his attention back to his app. The smile she gave him was brief and probably the same one she flashed at all her customers. But in that very brief moment she was transformed. Not exactly a magical moment, but it was enough to strengthen his resolve. Until now, he had limited his occasional forays to simply looking for Ms. Right Now rather than Ms. Right. He had no inkling of what Ms. Right was supposed to be, apart from Easy On The Eyes and Not A Bitch. Actually, that applied to Ms. Right Now as well. The primary difference seemed to be length of commitment, or indeed even the existence of same.

He stifled the urge to shudder at the C word. Commitment. Companionship. Cancer. He took a swig of hot coffee to shock himself out of the direction his thoughts were taking him. No, this had to be done and he couldn't screw it up or he'd have to start all over again. He would leave things as they were for the moment. A few more well-placed words of praise when he left, and she would remember him when he came back next week. If nothing else, she would remember his name.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few Italian phrases sprinkled in this chapter which are fairly self explanatory. I looked them up on Google Translate so a) I hope they're correct and b) if you're curious, you can look them up. Otherwise I will be happy to translate for you.
> 
> You can picture Dante as Grey/Greed and N.V./Nicolo/Envy's Mama.

The same sense of honor that had forced Fu Yao to flee the dangerous vagaries of the Xingese Imperial Court with three children, the only family he had left, was what prompted him to shake the dust of the Briar Rose Senior Center off his feet. There had been some speculation, snickered behind hands, concerning whatever relationship Fu and Pinako might have. Their relationship was nobody's damn business, and the two of them ignored the salacious gossip that bounced around them like fleas on a hot griddle. But when they overheard (most likely meant to overhear) Fred "Wow I'm So Funny" Gorman asking his fellow bridge players _what's yellow and comes in a white box_ , Fu kind of lost it.

Having been schooled in martial arts as a younger man, Fu could have done Fred some real damage. As furious as he was, though, he didn't really want to get slapped with an assault charge, so he just stepped over to Fred's table, picked up his Metamucil cocktail, and dumped it on his head, dealing Fred the double insult of forcing him get up and mix another Fiber Bomber as well as making an oblique comment about what sort of matter he had for brains.

They sought refuge at the Golden Corral, which, in spite of all kinds of awesome senior specials, was not full of a bunch of old farts sitting around on their flabby asses waiting for their skin tags to fall off (this remark made Pinako snort coffee up her nose). Additionally, nobody here gave a trucker's cuss about people's personal lives. They ordered up a couple of 2.99 waffle platters and opened up the backgammon board they'd brought with them.

Pinako rolled a five and advanced two of her pieces.

"You get that letter from the school? The one about the online creepers?" Fu asked, scooping up the dice and tossing them. He threw double fives and clapped his hands together with a laugh. "Bam!" He moved four of his pieces over five points.

Pinako picked up the dice. "Better watch out. You start out gangbusters like that, you just might fall on your ass."

Fu just smirked at her, unperturbed, and loaded up another forkful of waffles with banana topping.

"Yeah, I got the letter. I'm not worried about it." Pinako blew a puff of air into her fist before rattling the dice. "Winry's way too sensible to get caught by that kind of crap."

"Oh, hell, yeah," Fu agreed. "Ling might be a goof ball, and Mei has her head in the clouds sometimes, but they're good kids. And of course Lan Fan keeps an eye on 'em both." He chuckled. "She made up Mei's user name for her. BognarDestroyerOfWorlds."

Pinako guffawed. "That oughtta put off a few pervs. It's too long to type out, for one thing." She sobered for a moment. "I hoped they catch those dirtbags, whoever they are."

"There's so many of 'em," Fu remarked in disgust, frowning at the backgammon board. "Kind of a sad comment on society, but there it is. People suck."

"Now, that's not entirely true," Pinako chided mildly. "Yes, darlin'." She pushed her cup toward the sunnily smiling waitress who had just arrived with a fresh pot of coffee. "You can top that right off."

The waitress, whose name badge proclaimed her to be Sue Ellen, filled their mugs. "You folks enjoying your breakfast?"

"Sure are!" Pinako replied. "You're gonna be seeing a lot more of us."

Sue Ellen grinned. "Glad to hear it!" She moved on with her carafes to other caffeine-deprived people. "See?" Pinako nodded toward the waitress' retreating back. "She doesn't suck. She's gettin' a monster-sized tip."

Fu emptied a sugar packet into his coffee. "Fair enough."

"And of course, there's those kids of ours. They don't suck, either."

"That's high praise with a faint damn," Fu remarked.

Pinako waved her fork. "You know what I mean. They're gonna grow up to be remarkable adults."

"Well." Fu threw a six and a two and considered his options. "They were raised by some remarkable adults, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Oh, now, I can't take that much credit for Winry."

"Well, you can take partial credit, since you raised her dad."

Pinako gave a sigh. "Sometimes I think I raised him too good. He and Sara were always buzzing off to help people. That's how they ended up in Ishval, for all the good that did anybody." She took a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "Y'know, I guess that's something those kids have in common."

Fu lifted an eyebrow. "You mean having their parents meet untimely ends?"

"Yeah. That could have really messed them up, but in a way, it made them stronger. Winry's got an awfully good head on her shoulders, and Lan Fan really looks out for her cousins."

Fu nodded. "And even their pal, Paninya. She lost her folks, too. She's a real sweetheart." He looked across the table at Pinako and gave a little smirk. "But we worry about 'em just the same."

"You got that right." Pinako rolled double sixes and let out a whoop, sliding her last four pieces to the opposite ends of the board. "Ha! Beat that, old timer!"

.......................................................................................................................................

The letter had already been opened, probably by Ed, even though the envelope clearly said "Parents/Guardians of…" Then it had been set aside. Van wasn't particularly concerned about the issues addressed in the letter, except in a general society-at-large sort of way. But he was nothing if not a dutiful parent, so he made his way into the den where his sons converged in the evening.

Alphonse was reading and Ed was in front of the PC. Van held up the letter. "I guess you boys already took a look at this."

Alphonse glanced up. "Huh? Oh, yeah!" He grinned a little sheepishly. "Ed opened it up."

Not looking away from the screen, Ed said, "It had my name on it."

"Indirectly," Van remarked mildly.

Ed just lifted a shoulder.

"I would like to just assume that I don't have anything to worry about," Van went on, a little cautiously.

Alphonse smiled like the ray of filial sunshine that he was. "Yes, Dad, you can do that."

Ed just snorted. "Seriously," which from him was as much a confirmation as anything.

Van nodded, folding the letter back up. "Yeah, I figured."

He moved a little further into the room. The book Alphonse was reading was part of a series of the adventures of a rural veterinarian. No surprises there. Venturing in to less calm waters, Van sidled around to peek at whatever Ed was viewing on the PC. The boy made no move to quickly shut it down or to even acknowledge his father's presence. Van looked a little closer at the screen.

"Huh. That's kind of old news, isn't it? I mean…" he added, "historically speaking, it's certainly significant, but not exactly a current event." He didn't get a reaction, so he asked an outright question. "Why the interest? Is it a school project?"

"Sort of," Ed replied, a little dismissively.

"How do you 'sort of' have a school project?"

Van couldn't see the reflection of Ed's face on the computer screen, but judging by the pause, he was probably rolling his eyes.

"It's just something I was curious about."

"Oh." Van left it at that, remaining for a few more moments, looking at the headline of the of the news article Ed was reading.

**_Massive Explosion in Ishval Kills 27, Injures Dozens_**

.........................................................................................................

"Gregorio! Gregorio!"

Grey had just finished getting his hair to spike just right when his mother barged into his room. He made the mistake of leaving his door open, which to Mama was an open invitation. He exchanged a small grimace with his reflection before she got close enough to see.

"What is it, Mama?"

Mrs. Vorace had an envelope in one hand and was waving a letter with the other. " _Cos'è questo?_ It came from Nicolo's school! Is he in trouble again?"

Grey sighed. Poor Mama. Sometimes she just didn't get stuff, especially when she was upset. Anything having to do with her baby boy and school would send her into a tizzy. The kid had had some problems in the past and the merest hint acted like a trigger.

Grey held out his hand. "Let me see that."

Mama thrust the letter at him. "Well?" she demanded before he'd gotten past the first couple of sentences.

"Hold on, Mama." Grey glanced over the rest of the letter then nodded. "It's okay. It's not about Nicolo. Everybody got this letter. The school just wants all the parents to make sure their kids aren't talking to online perverts."

"Why would they do that?" Mama gasped. "Is my Nicolo doing that? Gregorio! Is he doing that?"

"No, no, Mama, of course not!" Grey assured her.

Mama's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

Actually, he wasn't, but he wasn't going to tell his mother that.

"'Course I'm sure, Mama!" he told her with a smile. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "Don't even worry about it anymore. I'll talk to him about it, though, just like it says to in the letter."

Mama squished Grey's face between her hands. " _Sei un bravo ragazzo!"_

Grey usually got home late from the restaurant, and Nicolo was usually still up. Grey would tap on his door and poke his head in to check on his brother, who was usually sitting in front of his laptop. Sometimes he looked a little guilty. If he was looking at porn, well, he was fifteen, after all, so it wasn't like a big shock.

Tonight Grey used a different tactic. He took his shoes off before he went upstairs, and he didn't knock first. He just walked in.

Wow. What timing. Nicolo was standing in the middle of his room, not a stitch on, taking a selfie. And not of his face. The kid jumped a good couple of feet but, from long practice, kept his yelp of surprise quiet enough so he wouldn't wake Mama.

"What the hell!" he hissed, grabbing at the first item at hand, his bedspread, to hastily wrap around his skinny hips.

"What the hell!" Grey answered back.

"I asked you first! You can't knock?"

Grey ignored his question. "What were you doing?"

"None of your business!"

"Let me put it this way," Grey went on patiently. "You can tell me or you can tell Mama."

That made an impression. "Dammit, Grey, you son of a bitch!"

Grey promptly stepped up and popped Nicolo on the back of his head, then thrust a finger in his brother's face. "Don't you call me that! You call me that and you're calling yourself that! And you do not talk about Mama like that, Nicolo!"

Nicolo rolled his eyes. "Whatever. And I told you to call me N.V.!"

Grey let out a laugh and jerked his chin toward what Nicolo had hiding under his bedspread/man wrap. "Yeah, like anybody's gonna envy that!"

Nicolo sneered at him.

"So how come you're immortalizing your boy parts on your phone?"

"Cuz I felt like it!" Nicolo snapped back defensively.

"You gonna use it for your wallpaper or something?"

"Look, just…forget it, okay?"

Nicolo reached for his phone, which he had dropped on the carpet, but Grey grabbed it first. Nicolo snatched at it. "Hey, gimme that!"

Grey held the phone out of his brother's reach and put a finger to his lips. "You're gonna wake Mama!" He gave the phone a little waggle. "Now, I realize this is your own personal property, but it's also technically child pornography, which is seriously illegal to be transferring to other people. Were you planning on sending this anybody?"

Nicolo was not a bad liar, but he was no expert. He hesitated just a second too long. "No."

"I'm serious, kid," Grey said sternly. "You tell me or you tell Mama. Take your pick."

Nicolo let out a soft curse, realizing he was up against the wall. "Okay," he muttered. "So…there's…this girl I've been PM-ing for a little while, and she…you know…" He gave a small shrug. "She asked me to send her a picture."

"Of your little baby face?"

Nicolo just glowered.

"So who is this girl? Where does she live? Do you go to school with her?"

"No, she lives in West City."

"I see. And has she ever sent you a picture of her?"

Nicolo shifted his feet. "Not yet. She said her mom took her cell phone, and she doesn't have a camera."

"Her mom took her cell phone but not her computer?"

"She uses her brother's laptop."

"Uh-huh. What's her name?"

"Miranda."

"Aw, that's pretty. Has she talked about the two of you maybe meeting up sometime?"

Nicolo looked a little surprised. "Yeah, she did!"

Grey rubbed his forehead. "Nicolo, do you have any proof that this is even a girl that you're talking to?"

"Huh?" Nicolo frowned at his older brother. "Well, why wouldn't…of course I'm sure!"

"I didn't ask you if you were sure, I asked you if you have proof. Do you? You've never actually heard her voice? Do you ever skype?"

"…no, but…"

"But nothin'! You've got no proof that your buddy Miranda isn't some pudgy, bald, forty-something guy spankin' his monkey over his collection of photos of your little _pisello_!"

Nicolo's mouth dropped open, his mind apparently struggling with disbelief and denial. "N…no way!"

"Way, _fratellino_. Sometimes that's how these guys operate." Grey rubbed his forehead wearily. The minute he saw that letter this morning, he just had a gut feeling. He hoped he was wrong, but his gut was pretty reliable. "Look, I'm not tryin' to break your heart or anything, but you need to shut this down. I'm serious."

N.V.'s complexion had gone from red to white. He was probably making calculations in his head that weren't quite adding up, and he was pretty good at math. "Uh…am I in…uh…some deep shit?"

Grey shook his head. "You're not," he replied. He tossed the phone back. "You're a minor and even though you fell for this, you're actually the victim." He frowned thoughtfully at his younger brother. "I know a couple of police detectives who're working on cases like this. They come to my restaurant sometimes—"

Nicolo gripped his bedspread. "I don't wanna talk to a cop!"

Grey let out an impatient breath. "I said, you're not the one who's in trouble. You could help with the investigation."

Nicolo looked morosely skeptical. "What am I supposed to say to Miranda?"

"Miranda?" Grey scoffed. "Lie. Or don't lie. Say your brother caught you." He thought for a moment. "Don't break it off just yet, though. Maybe the cops can trace this perv."

"Great." Nicolo scowled. "What if it really is a girl named Miranda?"

"Well, if she's a _nice_ girl, you shouldn't be sending her dick pics and she shouldn't be asking for 'em! Now go to bed!"


	22. Chapter 22

Andakar had gone a lap and a half before Rose appeared through the gate that broke up the wall separating her apartment building and the park. They exchanged nods and headed on their own ways, she to the swing set and he to continue his run. Rose, he noticed, had two little creases between her eyebrows. He had seen her at the coffee shop nearly every morning for the past few weeks and once or twice a week at this park, and about half the time her features would be smooth and untroubled, or at least, neutral. Other days she had that little pucker to her brow. Those days, from what he had been able to observe, would not be good days for Rose. He never remarked on it or asked why. He was sure she had her reasons.

He finished his fourth lap and headed toward the playground. Rose had gotten some good height on the swing. Andakar sat down on the grass and began to stretch, folding himself forward and grasping his feet to flex them up. He held that position for several moments, his head down. The squeaking of the swing slowed and stopped.

"Lucy wants you and Mattas to come for dinner again," he heard Rose say almost abruptly, as though it was some painful duty she wanted to be done with. "She says there'll be dire consequences if you bail."

Andakar considered Rose's message. This would be Lucy's third attempt. "All right."

"Wow. Really?" Rose was genuinely surprised.

"I can't avoid it forever." Andakar straightened up. "Don't take that the wrong way," he added.

Rose waved her hand. "Yeah. No. I totally understand."

Over the past few weeks they had established a sort of tacit camaraderie. Their only frame of reference about each other was the way there were now. Neither yearned for the other to be the way they "used to be." When they met at the coffee shop they just spoke briefly. They inquired about the other's health and assured each other that they were fine. It was not the same way they told other people they were fine, since other people had different definitions of what "fine" was. They were the only ones who could tell the difference.

When they met at the park, once or twice a week, they opened up a little more, not being under the scrutiny of their respective siblings. That is to say, Rose did, particularly on the days when she had that little furrow. The last time, she expounded on why she had dyed her hair. She was angry, then felt stupid afterwards, then felt proud of her handiwork, then felt stupid again. Then she apologized for going off like that. Andakar assured her that her hair looked fine. He'd never seen her before she dyed it so it hardly mattered. She asked him if she should keep it that way. He told her it was her decision. She asked him again, gun to his head. In that case, he told her to keep it pink.

Andakar swung his right leg around and bent it behind him to stretch his quads. He wondered what this morning's conversation would be like. That furrow looked pretty deep.

"So how's teaching?" Rose asked with a kind of quick insistence, as though wanting to divert interest away from herself.

Andakar shrugged. "Some days are better than others."

"That bad, huh?"

Andakar gave a hint of a smile and shifted to stretch his left quads. "I have some students who are highly promising, others who are sincerely making an effort, but most of them are simply waiting for the bell to ring. Just like me."

"Why don't you quit?"

"Because I can't disappoint my family more than I already have. Although I doubt I can disappoint them any less."

Rose wrapped her arms around the swing chains, clasping her hands in front of her and nursing the furrow between her brows. "Yeah, trying to live up to what your family wants you to be when you don't want to be that is rough. I've gotten really good at putting on a show of being 'back to normal'"—she briefly unclasped her hands to make finger quotes—"mainly to keep Lucy happy. I'm almost starting to believe it myself," she added wryly.

She was quiet for a while, absently watching Andakar while he rolled his ankles. "But sometimes I wish I could just get away from everybody. Like you did. That must have been kind of awesome."

Andakar stilled and gave her a sharp look. "It wasn't."

Rose waved her hand. "No, no, I realize that! It's just…" She let out a huff of exasperation. "I don't know. I just wish I could be totally by myself, just for a little while."

Andakar considered her for a moment. "Is that why you come here? Have I been intruding on your solitude?"

"Oh!" Rose looked surprised. "No, you're not!" she said quickly. "You're fine! I mean, you're not intruding at all. Even when you're here it's like you're not. No! Wow." She scrunched her knuckles against her forehead. "That didn't come out right. I meant…" She scowled. "You don't…intrude. I mean, if I had to be stuck out in the desert with one other person, it could be—" She clamped her lips together for a moment. "Okay, forget I brought it up."

"It's forgotten."

"Good." Rose studied her feet as she dug them into the sand. A silence hung between them which Andakar considered comfortable enough but which Rose broke after a short time. "But seriously. What was it like? I mean…" she added, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But, you know, you've listened to me spill my guts enough times."

Andakar forbore from reminding her that he never asked her to. "What did you want to know?"

"Well…how did you survive? What's there to eat?"

That was simple enough. "A lot. As long as you have a source of water, there are plenty of things to eat."

Rose looked skeptical. "Other than cactus?"

"Yes, other than cactus, which is completely edible. Meskaa tree pods can be ground into flour. And there are a lot of small animals."

Rose's expression went somber. "Dude. Really?"

Andakar shrugged. "That's survival."

"So aside from the doing the paleo diet thing, what did you do?"

Andakar hesitated, then replied cautiously, "Prayed. Meditated." _Railed at the heavens till my throat was raw. Felt God's presence always just out of reach. Became something akin to an animal. Despaired_. "It wasn't meant to be therapeutic. It was a punishment. It was…hard coming back."

"Yeah, I can see where it would be," Rose agreed solemnly. "Still…I still think it would be kind of nice just for a few days, maybe. Maybe I'd appreciate being around other people again."

"I didn't."

"Or not." Rose gave a conceding nod. "Sometimes I just get really tired of having to be nice to people. I'm definitely tired of getting hit on."

Andakar frowned. "Does that happen at lot?"

"Mm…most of the time guys'll just flirt and you can tell it's just friendly and harmless. Other times you just have to shut 'em down pretty quick and then you smile and give them their coffee and send them on their way. Didn't used to bother me, really. Now it does. Lucy, it just rolls right off her." Rose rocked the swing back and forth a couple of times. "Then there's this one guy. He's not really what you'd call unpleasant, I guess, but I think he's got some sort of agenda. He's been in at the same time for the past three Saturdays. I'd call him subtly persistent. His name is Solf, which is different—"

"Solf?" Andakar said sharply. "Dark hair? Wears it in a ponytail?"

"Yeah." Rose regarded him curiously. "You know him?"

"He's one of the assistant principals at the school," Andakar replied darkly.

"Oh wow. Small world. I'm guessing you don't like him."

"Not particularly. Has he been bothering you?"

"Well…bother is kind of strong. He comes in a little after nine and hangs around for about an hour. Makes small talk, drops the occasional hint that he's got a nice place and drives a nice car, throws in a compliment here and there to give himself a nice guy vibe, but you can tell that's his formula. I can tell he's just on the verge of asking me out and then I'll have to tell him that I'm not looking for a relationship right now and I have to make it stick. I mean, without dumping his coffee in his lap."

Andakar began to open his mouth to tell her to go ahead and do just that, and then she added offhandedly, "He smells nice, though."

Andakar closed his mouth. She had not asked for his opinion. What she did with her life was entirely her own business. She certainly hadn't asked him to be her champion. He was startled by the revelation that he was just the tiniest bit disappointed that she hadn't.

...............................................................................................................................

With his arms filled with toothpaste, protein bars, and toilet paper, Andakar paused at the shelves of soap and body wash. The women's were all fairly straightforward. Vanilla and Lavender. Oatmeal and Shea Butter. Sweet Pea. Cucumber and Mint. The men's were a little vague and sort of ridiculous. Wolfthorn. Anarchy. Swagger. Mattas used that one. Deep Space. Deep space was a vacuum. It probably didn't smell like this.

"Getting a little tired of Ivory?"

Andakar gave a guilty little start and put the bottle back on the shelf. "I was just curious."

"You can use mine, you know."

Andakar made a non-committal tilt of his head and moved on. On the end cap of that aisle was a display of body sprays.

He frowned. "'Really Ripped Abs'? Are they serious?"

Mattas chuckled. "Is this something you're in the market for or is this just social commentary?"

"I don't know. I couldn't bring myself to have something like that in my possession."

"Well, here." Mattas pulled him by the arm over to the shaving products. "You're the old school type, after all." He took a small bottle with a narrow neck from the shelf of after shaves. The bottle was labelled "Stetson". Mattas twisted off the cap and held it under Andakar's nose. "Try that."

Andakar took a tentative whiff. The scent was actually fairly mild. He considered the bottle for a moment. Did he really want to lower himself to competing with Solf Kimblee, or worse, copying him? He shouldn't even care. It didn't matter. It was a disgraceful vanity. He put his purchases in the basket Mattas was holding and followed them with the bottle of after shave, avoiding his brother's amused look.

............................................................................................................................................................

Lucy made much of him when he and Mattas arrived at her apartment. She gave him a big hug. He could hear her inhale through her nose close to his face. "Ooh! Stetson!" she cooed. "You went all out!"

He felt his face get warm. Rose didn't hug him, but she leaned a little closer to him as he approached her. She sniffed. After a moment of consideration, she smiled and gave him a somewhat curious look before going off to the kitchen to get silverware, leaving Andakar to wonder if he should feel pleased or if he should feel like an idiot.


	23. Chapter 23

For the first time in a while, Solf was feeling pretty good about things. They weren't perfect, by any means. He still had this other person living with him, something he hadn't sought out, but Danika was causing much less of a disruption and annoyance than he thought she would. She was surprisingly low maintenance. All he had to do was drive her places and pay for stuff. The rest of the time, she took care of herself. She didn't make much noise except when she was in the kitchen. She sang while she cooked, which would have been really annoying except that she wasn't loud and she had kind of a sweet little voice and he couldn't understand what she was singing anyway.

She also cooked really good food. He had no idea Ishvalans ate this well. Just this past weekend she made a pork roast with some kind of marinade made up of a mix of pureed vegetables and spices. It was fabulous.

He'd been summoned to dinner at Dad's a couple of times in the past few weeks, which wasn't getting any easier. He mentioned that he'd met a girl (which was kind of stretching the truth—yes, he had technically met Rose, but it hadn't gone past that) who had started a fairly successful business with her sister. Dad was actually pretty impressed with that. He urged Solf to bring her by sometime. He had to confess that things hadn't progressed that far just yet. Dad scoffed at that and said that the girl was probably just playing hard to get. Dad didn't understand his methods.

He'd only been to the coffee shop three times. He had to express a certain interest, but he couldn't come off as a stalker. He had yet to explain why he happened to be going there every Saturday at that particular time. He hadn't yet because he wasn't sure how Rose would react to the fact that he had a kid. He knew it would be a deal breaker for him. On the other hand, if he gave the story enough of a pro-Solf spin, Rose might actually see him as a really awesome guy. He could even tell her what a swell kid Danika was and it would actually be true. Signed, sealed, delivered.

As he and Danika were driving home on Friday, he resolved to do just that when he went to La Sorelle the next morning. It was actually kind of exciting and it put him in a particularly good mood. He glanced over at Danika, who was talking on her new cell phone. He had to admit, it was kind of cute how awestruck she had been when he took her to pick one out. She was practically in tears when the salesman handed it to her, activated and ready to go.

Danika drew in a quick little breath. "Really? Oh, I'd love to!" she gushed into the phone. "I have to ask my father, though. Hold on!"

She put her hand over her phone and turned to him. "Father, could I spend the night at Winry Rockbell's house tomorrow? I'll get all my homework done, and I'll fix something for dinner for you, and—"

"Sure you can!" Solf told her, feeling particularly expansive. It would give him a night to himself, for one thing. And if his current plan was a success, maybe, just maybe, he could talk Rose into letting him take her out to dinner and who knew what else. "Don't worry about dinner for me. But I can drop you off there."

Danika giggled excitedly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she squealed. She put the phone to her ear again. "It's okay! I can go!" She bounced in her seat. "This is going to be so awesome…Okay…I'll talk to you later…Bye!" She ended the call and turned to Solf. "Thanks so much, Father! You're the best!"

"No problem," Solf said mildly. This dad stuff was a piece of cake. Solf Sr. could learn a few things.

"Are you sure you don't want me to fix something for you before I go?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." He smiled at her significantly. "I might have plans."

" _Eh-h!_ What kind of plans?"

"Well..." He hadn't really thought about telling Danika about Rose, or any other more personal aspects of his life. But if things got serious he would probably have to. Besides, she might even think it was cool. "You know when you've been at your temple, I've been going to this little coffee place. I've been talking to one of the ladies who works there."

Danika went a little somber. "Oh."

Her brief response and her tone sounded a little ominous. "Is that a problem?"

"No...no...I mean..." Danika frowned a little in thought. "It's just...I suppose now that Mother's dead, it's natural that you'd want to...well...meet other people."

Oh, yeah. That. He couldn't exactly tell the kid that he'd totally put her mother out of his mind. "Well, yes," he said wistfully. "Your mother was a special person and nobody can replace her." He'd heard that in a movie or read it in a book or something. "But Rose is pretty special, too. I think you'd like her."

Danika nodded and gave him a brave little smile. Apparently he pushed all the right buttons. "I'm sure I would."

His cell phone, parked in its dashboard mount, started playing a grating metal intro and a picture of a toad appeared on the screen, signaling a call from his father. Hopefully he would never hear that ring tone or see that picture, both of which would infuriate him.

"Seriously?" Solf muttered. He tapped his finger to his lips and Danika nodded gravely. Solf put the call on speaker. "Hey, Dad. What's—"

"Shut up!" the speaker roared. "What did I tell you? All those years ago! Did you think I forgot?"

Solf froze. "I—what—"

"Act stupid all you want!" his father bellowed. "I warned you! You screwed around with that Ishvalan slut and now it's payback!"

Solf shot a glance at Danika. The girl's normally dusky features had gone pale as she stared at the phone. This was the first time she was hearing her grandfather's voice, and she was hearing it at its ugliest. The term payback could possibly have a few different meanings and Solf grasped at the one he hoped was meant in this case, although he knew he was fooling himself.

"No—Dad—listen! I've got this! It's not a problem—"

"Not a problem, huh?" the phone snarled back. "You're damn right it's not a problem! It's not _my_ problem! Not anymore! I'm done with you, Solf! You hear me?" How could he not. The whole city could probably hear him. "You're dead to me! Do you understand? _Dead!_ "

"Father! Look out!"

Solf's head snapped up from the phone's screen in barely enough time to register the fact that he was just about to get t-boned by an extended cab pickup. He floored the accelerator through the intersection even as his father was still hollering at him.

"…in there with you? I can't fucking believe it!" Solf Sr. was practically screaming by now. "You've got the little bastard in your car with you right now? You'd better listen good! Get rid of her or I'm cutting you off!"

Solf's throat had already gone dry and he could barely choke out a response. "Dad—what—what are—"

"Cut off! You won't get one more red cenz from me, alive or dead! You've got five seconds to come to a decision!"

"What?" Solf looked at Danika again and wished he hadn't. She was staring back at him, terrified, tears spilling from her eyes.

"One!"

Was she just that shocked at the bile that was coming out of the phone?

"Two!"

Or did she think he would actually dump her.

"Three!"

Because there was that small part of him that automatically wanted to do just that and maybe she could see that in his eyes.

"Four!"

And it was taking him five seconds to even think about it.

"Five!"

"Dad—listen—I can't just—"

"I guess that's my answer right there!"

The call ended, the display reading 1:37 in elapsed time. Solf began to feel very strange. He felt cold all over even as he felt his heart pounding. He had trouble sucking in air and he felt like he was going to pass out. While he still could, he swerved over to the curb, ignoring the fact that it was red, and his foot slipped off the clutch. The car lurched to a stall. He pressed his head against the steering wheel and struggled for air.

He felt a hand grip his shoulder. "Father! Father!" Danika cried, sounding almost as panicked as he felt, if that were even possible.

He was vaguely aware of her leaning away and scrabbling through her backpack. She tried to thrust something into his hand. He lifted his head a little to see a water bottle. He was suddenly horrifically thirsty. He grabbed the bottle and gulped down its contents. He felt a little better, at least like he was not dying, and he sat back, staring out through his windshield at a world that had no idea how his life had just crumpled into a ball and gotten kicked into the closest storm drain.

He turned to look at Danika, who was shaking and crying but trying to keep herself together and staring at him helplessly. A voice in his head screamed and shook its fists and declared that all of this was her fault and he would never be in the position if it wasn't for her. It was King Bradley's fault for making him go through with this whole taking the moral high road bullshit. It was Zamfyra's fault for being so easy. It was totally his father's fault for being such a narrow-minded, soulless piece of miscreation. It was not his fault. It was not his fault. It was not his fault.

After a few minutes, even with Danika's irritating sniffling, he began to calm a little. He took another drink of water, feeling his heart rate slow. How that managed to happen was kind of a mystery. His life had just been upended and he was sliding down into utter ruin. He ought to still be totally freaking out. Something or other was trying desperately to delude itself into a state of equilibrium.

It still wasn't his fault. It wasn't really Danika's fault either. That didn't make the situation any better. He closed his eyes and drew in the first deep breath he'd been able to take for the past several minutes.

"Look…can you…can you stop that, please?" he murmured.

Danika clapped her hand over her mouth to mask her snivelling. "I'm sorry!" she whimpered.

From the depths of his despair and the harsh, brittle shell of panic, a red hot fury burst through. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

"How the hell did he find out?" he yelled. "Who the hell told him?"

He snatched up his phone. "Call King!" he snapped at it. He tapped the steering wheel with his finger as he listened to four rings.

"Solf!" King finally answered. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Solf took a second to compose himself and spoke as calmly as he could. "King, I have a problem. It seems my father somehow found out about Danika."

"Really? Well, he didn't hear it from me, if that's what you wanted to know. I gave you my word, didn't I?"

He sounded a little wounded. Solf struggled to moderate his tone a little more. "No, of course I didn't think it was you." Much. "I'm just…I'm kind of upset right now. He just called me and basically disowned me."

"Oh, now, I can't imagine he meant it, Solf," King assured him, which, considering how well King was supposed to know Dad, was bullshit. "You're all he's got. Once he cools down I'm sure you two can discuss this like rational people."

Recognizing a dead end when he slammed one, Solf gave up. "Okay. Thanks, King."

"Any time." Yeah, right. "Let me know how things work out."

"Sure. See you Monday."

"Bye Solf."

Solf ended the call and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He sat like that for a few moments, then he abruptly lifted his phone again. "Call Richard!"

The phone rang and went to voice mail. _You've reached Richard Barnett. I can't answer your call at the moment, but if you leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a good one!_

"Richard! This is Solf! Call me! I need to know what's going on!"

He heaved a sigh and stared out through the windshield. Then he remembered that there was someone else in the car. Danika sat with her arms wrapped around her like she was cold, biting her lips to keep quiet.

Dad had said some pretty nasty things and they had to have come to the girl as a shock. If Solf wasn't feeling utterly screwed and a little traumatized himself, he would probably be feeling a little more sympathetic. He started the car up.

"Father?" Danika's voice was small and timid.

Solf looked over his shoulder at the traffic before merging into it. His limbs felt a little shaky and he hoped he could get home without getting into an accident. "What?"

"Are you going to send me back to Ishval?"

She didn't ask that just to assure herself that he wouldn't. She sounded genuinely scared that he would. Hesitating to answer probably didn't help much, but he really had to think about that one. He could hardly believe that just a few minutes ago she was this golden child, loaded with wonderful qualities. Now she was going to cost him big time. Anyone on whom he could not rely for some sort of gainful use he generally wrote off as a leper.

But Danika occupied a unique category. As odd as it felt, she was "family." His father was "family" too. If it was strictly a choice between the two of them, the answer should be clear. But the equation had that ever-present variable of money.

He was pretty much screwed either way. The real choice, one for which he was not in the most ideal frame of mind to make, hinged on which way he was screwed less.

"No…no, I'm not going to send you back to Ishval."

Danika let out a quiet, relieved breath and nodded. "I'm sorry," she added in a dejected tone.

"It's not your fault." Which was true, but Solf still surprised himself by saying it.

They drove on in silence. After a while, Danika ventured to meekly ask what he was trying to piece his thoughts together to figure out. "What's going to happen?"

He glanced at her and the way she was gazing at him, solemn and anxious, like she thought he might actually have an answer.

He let out a short, dry, bitter laugh. "I don't even know. I really don't."

..........................................................................................................................................

"So, how was your day, hon?" King asked as he poured himself a glass of pinot noir.

Hermione Bradley set a ham and potato casserole on the table. "Oh, this and that," she replied cheerfully.

Little Selim wiggled in his seat. "Mmm! That smells good, Mom!"

"Don't sound so surprised, son," King chuckled. "Your mom's the best cook ever!"

Hermione beamed at her little family as she sat down and started serving dinner. She handed King a plate of casserole. She put on a thoughtful look. "I did have a...well, not exactly odd conversation today, but, well, maybe it was."

"Kind of depends on who you had it with."

"Yes, I suppose." Hermione dished out a small portion for Selim and set it in front of him. "You be careful with that, sweetheart. It's hot. Make sure you blow on it." She turned back to her husband. "I happened to go downtown today to have lunch with Julie Edison and as I was walking back to my car, who should be stepping out of the bank but your friend Solf Kimblee."

King's fork paused on its way to his mouth. "Senior or Junior?"

"Oh, Senior, dear." Hermione gave a little wave of her hand. "I suppose I should have said that first. Anyway, we stopped to chat for a few moments. I hadn't seen him for some time, you know. Not since that party he gave where those young ladies got rather..." She glanced quickly at Selim, who was busy digging in to his cheesy ham and potatoes. "...high spirited."

"Oh, yes. I remember." King nodded and smiled knowingly. "Youth will have its fling, they say."

"Yes, well," Hermione countered primly. "So he asked how I was doing and he asked after Selim, which I thought was nice. Then I mentioned his son Solf and how I thought it was lovely that he had taken in his poor daughter that you told me about. The Ishvalan girl, you know?"

King's wine glass stilled in his hand. "Did you?"

"Yes, I did. I thought it was so touching and I thought his father must be so proud of him." Hermione shook her head. "But he went rather pale for a moment, then he went rather red. And then he just mumbled something- -or hissed, more likely- - and stormed off. Don't you think that was odd?"

King took a sip of his wine, letting the vintage rest satisfyingly on his tongue for a moment. Damn fine year. "Well," he said easily. "That family's a little odd anyway." He gave his wife a glowing smile. "This casserole is a work of art, hon!"


	24. Chapter 24

When the alarm on his phone went off at 7 a.m., Solf turned it off and buried himself under his covers again. No way was he getting up, let alone driving anyone anywhere.

He had stayed up until just past midnight before he gave up waiting for Richard to call him back. He'd even tried calling his father, but his call went straight to voice mail, meaning either Dad's phone was off or his number had been blocked. Solf suspected the latter.

Danika was quiet as a mouse all the previous evening, practically tip-toeing around the apartment as though he were an explosive device ready to go off at the slightest vibration. At one point she went into her room and he could overhear her talking on her phone. He quickly put his ear close to the door. He wasn't going to stand for being the subject of any teenage gossip.

"…really, really wanted to come, but something came up and I can't make it...I can't really talk about it…it's okay…but thanks so much for asking me, Winry. Maybe I could come another time…I'd really like that…Okay. See you Monday. Bye, Winry!"

Solf could only barely remember what had happened before his father called. There was something about a sleepover. Yeah, that was off, along with a bunch of other plans he'd made before the bottom fell out of his life. Not much point shopping for a potential bride now, which was probably just as well. He was feeling particularly uncharitable toward the rest of humanity.

He could faintly hear Danika puttering in the kitchen. She wasn't singing. Nothing to sing about. Solf closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. He had woken up several times during the night, always from fitful dreams involving his father calling him back and apologizing. In your dreams, Solf.

He must have dozed off because his phone woke him up again, this time with a call. He grabbed at it without even checking the caller ID. It might finally be Richard, or maybe even his father.

"Yes! Hello!"

"Solf! My man! I heard, _amico!_ "

Solf froze, momentarily overcome with disappointment. Then he groaned. He really should have checked. "What the hell, Grey! Why are you even up?"

"I got up early expressly so I could be with you in your time of need. I'm just out on your street and your surly gatekeeper's gonna give me crap unless you tell him you're expecting me."

"I'm not expecting you. What do you want?"

"Let me up and I'll tell you."

"Tell me now, Grey!"

"Nuh-uh. Doesn't work that way. Come on, man! Trust me!"

Solf rubbed his face irritably. He didn't want to do this. He wanted to be left alone. Then again, considering how many people Grey knew and how information tended to practically fall into his lap, he might actually know something useful. Solf knew Grey worked late on Fridays so it was unlikely that he would get up this early on a Saturday morning unless it was important. Important to whom was another question.

"Okay, fine," Solf grumbled. "Give me a minute to call downstairs."

"Awesome!"

"Yeah, awesome." Solf ended the call then scowled at his screen to go through his contacts. He tapped on of them.

"Fairview Manor Apartments. This is Earl."

"Hey, Earl, this is Solf Kimblee in apartment 376. I have a visitor due in a minute or so. His name is Gregorio Vorace. Let him up, please."

"Yes, sir. Can I have your password, please?"

"4-8-9-1-3."

"Okay, Mr. Kimblee. I'll let the gentleman up."

"Thanks." Solf set his phone on his nightstand and closed his eyes. This meant he had to get up. This did not mean he had to be personable.

After procrastinating just a little more he rolled out of bed and trudged downstairs. He didn't bother tying his hair back, which he normally did regardless of whether anyone else was in the apartment. Smelling coffee, he headed for the kitchen, startling Danika, who was sitting on a counter stool with a bowl of cereal. She regarded him little cautiously, partly because he was obviously still in a pretty dark mood, but also because she had never seen him this ungroomed. Which was just a little ironic, considering she hadn't done her usual braids, letting her hair flow all over her shoulders. Life father, like daughter, Solf thought wryly.

"I made coffee," Danika said in a soft voice like she was in a library and might get scolded. "Do you want some?"

"I got it." Solf took a mug from the cupboard. He filled it from the coffeemaker carafe, then went to get some half and half from the fridge. He stood for a moment in the middle of the kitchen, staring at nothing. Then he roused himself. "There's a guy coming over in a couple of minutes. Friend of mine from college."

"Really?" Danika sounded almost shocked. It did kind of come out of nowhere, either the fact that someone was actually coming over or that he actually had a friend.

"Yeah. He…uh…" How did you prepare someone to meet Grey for the first time? That wasn't something he had the energy for right now. He didn't have the energy to deal with Grey, either, but he already opened up that particular floodgate so he didn't have much choice. He was almost tempted to tell Danika to hide in her room, but Grey probably knew all about her, too, so there wasn't much point.

Danika wrapped her bathrobe more tightly around herself. "Should I change?" she asked nervously.

Solf scoffed and shrugged. "I'm not."

Just as he started to wander in the direction of the entryway, the doorbell rang. It was not a sound Solf heard much and he forgot how loud it was. Even though he knew it was coming, it was startling. He peered out through the peephole, because you never knew, but it was, in fact, Grey.

He opened the door. "Hey."

Grey, clad in GQ casual, gave Solf's sweatpants and tee shirt a pitying, indulgent smile. "Hey yourself! Can I come in? This thing is heavy."

Solf stepped back so Grey could come in. He was carrying an ice chest.

"What's up with that?"

Grey lifted the ice chest. "This?"

Solf rolled his eyes. "No, the scratch on your right shoe."

Grey looked down quickly at his suede bucks. "No way! Where?"

"No, dumbass! I mean the ice chest!"

"Oh." Grey chuckled and pointed at Solf. "Had me goin' there, buddy! Yeah, this"—he tapped the ice chest—"contains a small celebration."

Solf scowled. "Explain that one to me."

"First things first." Grey continued out of the entryway and into the living room, heading straight toward Danika, who was edging timidly out of the kitchen. Grey set the ice chest down and spread his hands. " _Che bella ragazza!_ " he exclaimed rapturously. "So this is the sweet little thing to whom you have neglected to introduce me!"

"Not like I've had the chance."

Grey glanced back at him. "Yeah, and I'm still waiting."

Solf let out a put-upon sigh. "Grey, this is Danika. Danika, this is Grey."

"Oh, _please!_ " Grey stepped up to a slightly mystified Danika and took her hand. "Gregorio Vorace, at your service, sweetheart. But to my friends—such as they are"—he added with a jerk of his head toward Solf—"I'm Grey. To you"—he lifted Danika's hand and gave it a little kiss—"I'm Uncle Grey. Okay?"

"O…okay," Danika replied, flustered.

"She's a little young for you," Solf remarked dryly.

"Hey!" Grey made as if to swat Solf in the head. "That is totally uncalled for and not what I'm talking about! That being said…" He went to retrieve the ice chest. Setting it on the kitchen counter, he opened it up and took out a bouquet of pink roses. "These are for you, _piccola_."

Danika gave a little gasp and stared at the bouquet. "Really? That's so sweet! Nobody's ever given me flowers!"

"Now, I find that hard to believe!" Grey waved the bouquet a little, urging the girl to take it.

She gathered them into her arms like someone just handed her a baby. "Thank you!" she breathed.

"Entirely my pleasure, I assure you." Grey beamed at her. "Especially gettin' such a classic reaction. Made my day." Reaching into the chest again, he took out a demi bottle of champagne.

Solf gave the bottle a disparaging look. "Kinda early, isn't it? Not to mention, what the hell?"

"Solf, amico," Grey said patiently. "I'll tell you what the hell." He held up the chilled bottle. "This is to celebrate your liberation." He pulled another bottle out of the ice chest. "And I brought some ginger ale for the young lady 'cause I ain't even met you yet and already I'm thinkin' about your welfare." He flashed Danika a charming smile.

Danika giggled.

"Hey, you know, you go to school with my kid brother!" Grey went on. "Nicolo. Calls himself N.V."

Danika nodded. "Oh! Yes! He's in my math class. I don't really know him that well, though."

"Well, that's a shame, that's all I gotta say, although knowing my baby brother, not too surprising."

"What do you mean, my liberation?" Solf interrupted impatiently.

"Exactly that, my man," Grey replied. "Where do you keep your stemware?" He went into the kitchen and started opening cupboards. "See, I heard all about what went down at your old man's place yesterday. One of my waitresses is dating your old man's gardener's assistant and he came and saw her while she was on her break last night. He got the story from his aunt, who's your dad's housekeeper."

Solf's interest was really piqued now. "Marla? What did she say?"

"Well, it wasn't pleasant. There was an apocalyptic-sized rant, apparently. Lots of bad language. Oh, sweet! Here they are!" Grey took down three champagne flutes and gave them a quick inspection. "Thought these'd be covered in dust."

"Oh, I cleaned them!" Danika piped up.

"Of course your did, sweetheart." Grey patted her cheek. "'Cause you came to take care of your dear old dad 'cause he's incapable."

"So what happened!" Solf urged. "What did Marla say?"

"Oh, yeah!" Grey untwisted the wire around the champagne cork and gently eased it out with a mild little pop. He poured the sparkling wine into one of the glasses. "She said your dad didn't even eat dinner he was so pissed off. He made that accountant guy, Richard, stay way late, locked in your dad's office, waiting for the lawyers to show up."

Solf let out a loud, painful groan and covered his face. " _Lawyers_?" He plodded blindly into the living room and dropped down onto one of the sofas, sinking into the cushions and wishing they would just swallow him up and eat him. He could hear Grey give a loud sigh and mutter something in Aerugan.

After a moment he heard Grey's voice a couple of feet away. "Here. Take this."

Solf moved his hands to see a champagne flute hovering in front of his face. He took it with the intention of downing its contents in a few desperate gulps, but Grey held onto it for a moment, tapping his own glass against it. Then he let go and clinked glasses with Danika's ginger ale. She was standing next to Grey, looking perplexed and worried, like she wasn't sure why there was anything to celebrate but holding a glass anyway.

"Okay, here we go." Grey held up his glass. "To my buddy, Solf Kimblee, who is now a free man!"

Solf took the opportunity to gulp down his drink. Then he glared at Grey. "A free man?" he snapped bitterly. "Seriously?"

"That's what I said," Grey replied. "But anyway, to get back to what I was telling you, Marla tried to listen at the door, and she heard Richard arguing with your dad and the lawyers about you and a lot of legal jargon. She couldn't stay there too long, though. She can't afford to get fired." He retrieved the bottle of champagne and emptied it into his and Solf's glasses. "Your old man is one messed up cat, yo."

"Tell me about it," Solf agreed sullenly. At least he knew why Richard hadn't called him back. Solf Sr. probably kept him busy until the wee hours of the morning cutting his son out of his money as well as his life.

"You've been squashed under your father's thumb your whole damn life," Grey continued in a stern tone. "For him to be going off on you because of his stupid hang-ups is bad enough, but for him to go off like that because you did the right thing is just…well, it's beyond messed up. I don't care if he owns a quarter or half of the city or whatever the hell he owns! He's still a lawn-and-leaf-size bag of dicks! And if you're harboring any doubts that you made a mistake and want to go crawling back to him, you get rid of those thoughts right now, 'cause you're in the right!"

"Well, that's refreshing," Solf muttered.

"I mean it! Anybody who could toss his own flesh and blood aside like that is worth being rid of! I mean…" Grey pressed his fingers to his chest. "My mama's a terror. She's a despot. But anybody rags on her boys, it's badda boom!" He grinned. "I feel very protected. Anyway…" He pointed at Solf. "You're not being that guy, so props to you. Oh, here!"

Grey set his glass down on the coffee table and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to Solf, who took it with a mix of suspicion and hope. Maybe it was a check. It wasn't. It was two dinner coupons for Vorace.

"That includes the works, amico!" Grey said warmly. "No expiration date!"

Solf dourly considered the coupons, then set them aside. He wasn't feeling like not being that guy was so great. He heard Grey sigh. "You're not getting this, are you?"

"Getting what?" Solf drained his glass.

"Look at me, Solf!"

He looked up at Grey, who put an arm around Danika's shoulders and pulled her closer to him. He gestured at her. "Now look at this! Look at this little face!" He grasped Danika's face with one hand and gently squished her cheeks. "This little face that cleans your dusty crap and is a comfort to you and easy on the eyes but in a nice way so don't think I'm getting ideas! Do you really think you could throw her over just for a bunch of filthy money and having to eat out of your father's nasty-ass hands for the rest of your life? Come on, _stolto_!"

Solf considered the two of them for a couple of moments. Filthy money wasn't such a bad thing. "You know, my dad might change his mind when he cools down a little."

Grey threw his hands up in the air. "Are you kidding me? I don't believe I'm hearing this! Solf, you gotta break out of this thing! You gotta be your own man! You gotta—"

Solf heard his phone ring upstairs and in a sudden burst of energy he vaulted over the back of the sofa and bolted up the stairs, ignoring Grey's calls for him to sit his ass back down. He snatched the phone up from the nightstand and quickly checked the screen. _Richard!_ He swiped his thumb across screen and held the phone to his ear.

"Richard!" he cried. "Talk to me!"

"Uh, good morning, Solf," Richard said with a quiet chuckle that didn't sound too humorous. "Look, I'm really sorry I couldn't get back to you last night. Your father kept me pretty late, and I certainly couldn't call you while I was there."

"No, no, I totally get that!" Solf said quickly. "Just tell me how it ended up! Did you manage to finally talk him out of it?"

Richard sighed, which caused Solf's sudden burst of hope to plummet back to earth in a ball of searing flame. "I tried our damnedest, Solf. I really did. I nearly threatened to quit and frankly I'm still thinking about it." He sighed again. "Look, let me stop by there a little later and we can talk and I can help you figure out what to do next, okay?"

"So…so…" Solf mind reeled. "So he actually cut me off? For sure? Really?"

"Yes, Solf. Really," Richard said with gentle finality.

Solf sat down on his bed. He still didn't quite believe it. "Well, what if…he might change his mind later, right? He can change it back if—"

"How about I come by in an hour or so, all right?" Richard cut in with patient firmness. "I know it's a tough blow, but this is not a totally unsalvageable situation. I'll see you in a bit, okay?"

"Uh…yeah…okay. See you." Solf tapped the screen and dropped his hands into his lap. It still didn't quite seem real, but it felt realer than it did a few minutes ago. He had felt put upon and screwed over by circumstances before, but this was so grotesque he couldn't even wrap his mind around it.

"Hey, Solf!" Grey called out from downstairs. "I gotta get going! You call me if you need to talk or anything, okay?"

Solf sat silently, not bothering to answer. He was conscious of voices downstairs, Grey and Danika talking. He heard the front door open and close. Several minutes passed by as he sat staring at the large abstract painting that hung on the wall facing him. That thing cost a lot of money. Why did he buy that?

"Father?"

He jumped. He had forgotten about Danika's quiet little feet. "What?" he snapped. He rubbed his face and sighed heavily. "What?" he asked again, toning down his resentment.

" _Zhaarad_ Grey said for me to tell you that he'd call you." She was standing in the doorway in her fuzzy pink bathrobe, her arms wrapped around herself. She sounded despondent, as well she may.

"Yeah, okay. Message received," Solf muttered.

"Father…" Why wouldn't she just leave him alone? She spoke again, her voice just a little firmer but laced with anxiety. "Father, don't be so sad, please! I'll take care of you!"

That was kind of a ridiculous thing to say, considering that she wasn't exactly bringing in any cash.

"We don't have to eat so much fancy food, you know," she went on. "I know how to make do with less. It won't be so bad. And…and maybe I can get a job!"

It was unlikely she could pull down six figures. Solf pushed his fingers through his hair and idly scratched his scalp. Even the mild buzz he had gotten from gulping down champagne on an empty stomach had been killed. "Okay, to start with, I'll be as sad and as miserable as I feel like being because I kind of deserve it. Next…I just…I don't know! I can't think right now."

He looked back at her and her expression of wretchedness and trying to not cry. "Sorry," he said. "I'm not feeling up to going anywhere, so I'm not driving you to your temple this morning. I hope you can deal with that."

"No…no, I understand!" the girl said quickly.

"Good." He stood up and waved her out of his room. "I'm gonna take a shower. Richard Barnett is coming by in a while to tell me just how badly my life is ruined so I might as well face it clean."

"Oh." Danika stepped back out of the doorway. "He's that man we met at the store. The one who works for your father, isn't he?"

"Yeah, that's him."

Danika nodded. "I'll make some lunch."

"Yeah. Fine. You go down there and make do." Solf closed the door in her face, feeling mean.


	25. Chapter 25

Solf didn't go back downstairs until the doorbell rang. The idea of being alone with Danika made him uncomfortable. He wasn't sure if it was remorse, but he just couldn't deal with her painful efforts to please in the face of his surly spitefulness.

He noted that all the evidence of Grey's visit was gone, except for the bouquet of roses, which was now sitting in a vase on the kitchen counter. In addition, while he'd been sulking upstairs, Danika had apparently whipped up a plate of sandwiches and sliced fruit. She had also gotten dressed and her hair was back in its braids.

Danika was heading hesitantly toward the entryway but backed off as soon as she saw him. He went to open the door. Richard stood there with a concerned smile.

"Hello, Solf. How are you holding up?"

Solf shrugged. "I don't know. I'm still alive, apparently. Some people would say that's a good thing."

Richard pulled an indulgent little grimace and patted Solf on the shoulder as he stepped into the entryway. Solf had somehow expected him to be carrying a briefcase, maybe stuffed with legal papers detailing how he could sue the shit out of his father.

Danika came forward to greet their visitor. "Hello, _Zhaarad_ Barnett," she said, dipping a little bow. "Would you like some coffee or tea?"

"Hey, Danika!" Richard greeted her cheerfully. "Good to see you again! Yes, I'd love some coffee, if it's not too much trouble."

"Oh, not at all!" Danika scurried into the kitchen and brought out a whole coffee service set on a tray, something else Solf didn't even know he had. She set it down on the coffee table and poured out two cups and handed one to Richard. "Do you want cream and sugar?"

"No, sweetie, this is fine. Thank you."

She poured some cream into the next cup and handed it to Solf. He never liked cups that had to sit on saucers, but he took it anyway. "Thanks."

"Well," Richard said, sitting on one of the sofas. He took a sip from his cup and set it down. "I'm not proud to say I was called upon to witness your father's new will," he said heavily. "I'm not sure I've seen anything quite so spiteful in my life, and if it wasn't for the fact that I've got one daughter going to college next year and my youngest getting braces, I would have quit then and there." He regarded Solf levelly. "I figured I'd hang around, just to keep an eye on things." He smiled thinly. "Kind of a spy in the enemy camp."

Solf nodded. He couldn't really blame the guy. "So who's he leaving his money to?"

"He's split it up amongst a number of various beneficiaries," Richard replied. "The Amestrian Veterans Foundation. The Historical Building Trust. Some ranch for retired racehorses. A couple of philanthropic foundations."

"Philanthropic foundations!" Solf scoffed angrily. "That's a good one."

"Yes, well...they were already included in his will, but now they're getting all of it. Your father also added strict instructions that all his assets be liquidated after his death and added to the bequests. The houses, furnishings, cars, boats, horses, books, LPs, everything."

Solf's mouth fell open a little. "What? Wait! Some of that stuff was my mom's!"

"All of which she left to your father, leaving it to him to pass them on to you when he felt you were mature enough appreciate them," Richard explained patiently.

Solf set his cup down with a rattle and pressed his forehead into his hands. "Why would she do that?"

"I never met your mother, Solf, but from what I understand, she was a very sweet, very trusting person. She left everything having to do with finances or legal matters to your father."

"Great. Do I have any recourse?"

Richard shrugged. "Well, you could try to take your father to court, but others have tried that, too."

Solf nodded with rueful bitterness. "Yeah. I sure couldn't afford the cutthroat lawyers he can afford."

"Probably not. And your father's lawyers certainly didn't have my scruples about changing the will."

"So I'm screwed. I'm totally screwed. I'm totally, totally screwed."

Danika quietly set the plate of of sandwiches and fruit on the coffee table along with some small plates and some napkins. Then she stepped back and sort of hovered, wringing her hands. Richard patted the sofa cushion next to him.

"Sit down here, Danika. This concerns you, too, and you should know what's going on." As the girl cautiously lowered herself onto the sofa, Richard turned back to Solf. "You are not totally screwed. Yes, it's tragic that your father thinks so little of you, but you can't sit here wallowing in self-pity. It's not the end of the world. You're not entirely dependant on him, after all. What do you make without your father's matching funds? Seventy? Eighty thousand?"

"Ninety-four," Solf muttered. He heard Danika draw in a quick little breath.

"Well, I hope you realize that that's a lot of money to some people." Richard helped himself to a sandwich, which had been neatly cut into triangles. "These look great! Is this chicken salad?"

"Yes," Danika said softly.

Richard bit into his sandwich. "Mm!" He chewed for a bit and swallowed his mouthful. "That's delicious! Thank you, sweetie! That was so nice of you!"

"You're very welcome, _Zhaarad_. Father, please have a sandwich."

"I'm not hungry."

Danika pushed a little stern firmness into her voice. "You haven't eaten all morning."

Solf met the girl's solemn gaze. Seems she was taking care of him with a vengeance.

"Fine," he muttered, taking a sandwich and biting into it. He had no idea when she made this, but it was a wonderful balance between creamy and chewy and tangy and savory. He could tell it was mixed with that same vegetable stuff she'd marinated that pork roast in. It was just a little thing but it was so good. He considered the rest of the sandwich in his hand as he swallowed. This is what Danika did. This was how she took care of people, whether it was a whole clan of uncles and aunts and cousins or just one antisocial bachelor. She did it without fuss and she did it without expecting anything back. He looked back at her.

"This is really good," he said. "Thanks, kiddo."

It was not much of an endearment, but it seemed to mean the world to her. That seemed to be all she wanted because she smiled with so much gratitude it was hard to keep looking at her.

Solf cleared his throat. "Okay. So, I make a decent wage, compared to some," he said to Richard. He waved his sandwich to indicate the apartment interior. "It's not going to be enough to cover this place."

"That's true," Richard agreed in a businesslike now-we're-talking tone. He turned to Danika. "I've got a job for you, young lady."

The girl perked up brightly. "What would you like me to do?"

"I want you to get on the internet and start apartment hunting."

"Hey, wait a—"

Richard cut Solf off gently, holding up his hand. "This needs to be done, and it'll be good for you to do it together. Danika needs to be in on this, not kept in the dark. Knowledge is power. It also dispels anxiety. Something my dad always taught me." He turned back to Danika. "I want you to start a list. Probably best to keep within a decent driving distance of your school. You'll save on gas. And keep to around a fifteen hundred to two thousand a month rent."

Danika's eyes grew large. "That's so much!"

"It's a reasonable amount, based on your dad's salary. Your rent should be about a third of your monthly income." Richard glanced at Solf. "This place goes for at least twice that much."

Danika stared at him, then at Solf, who nodded. She still seemed incredulous, almost as if it was somehow offensive and she was trying not to show it. Then she gave a nod and stood up. "I'll go get the laptop."

"Right!" Richard took another sandwich and stood up as well. "Solf, would you mind letting me take a look at your finances?"

Solf nodded morosely. The idea of having to leave this apartment was twisting his gut. As tasty as Danika's sandwiches were, he really didn't want to eat anything else.

................................................................................................................................

Sitting in front of the PC, Richard pored over Solf's bank and credit card accounts and rattled on about CDs, short term bonds, and money market accounts. He chided Solf a little about not having looked into these things a long time ago, considering how much of an income he had until now. Yes, now he felt stupid about taking his father's money for granted.

But he couldn't quite give Richard his full attention. He kept glancing back at Danika. He had not let her enter his office up until now, but now she was ensconced on the little divan, his old laptop open on the footrest in front of her. He had given the laptop to her since he had recently gotten himself a newer model. When the letter concerning online predators came from the school, he just handed it to her to read herself and considered his parental duty to be fulfilled. He was entirely uncomfortable discussing the subject with her.

He was certainly not comfortable with her picking out their next apartment, but he cringed even more at the idea of having to find one himself. He didn't want to live somewhere else. He loved his apartment. He especially didn't want to live in some place that someone else had been in. He did not like places with "history." The only history there was in this place was his.

"So your credit card debt is pretty substantial, but it's not unmanageable," Richard remarked, scrolling through Solf's various accounts. He smirked a little. "Looks like you've been spending a lot less money on food lately. That's good." He smiled over his shoulder at Danika. "Who needs restaurants when you've got such a gourmet chef here, huh?"

Danika glanced back at him with a dimpled smile.

"Well," Richard continued, frowning thoughtfully at the monitor. "This doesn't really look so bad. I think you can probably figure out how to live within your means. Your new ones, that is. Cutting your rent in half is half the battle right there. You probably don't need a cleaning service." He peered at Solf over the tops of his cheaters. "Frankly I think it would do you good to clean up after yourself."

"Oh, I could do all that!" Danika put in quickly.

That sounded pretty fair to Solf, but Richard looked back at the girl. "Well, maybe you could, sweetie, but you shouldn't have to. Your school work is more important." He turned back to Solf. "I'm running on the assumption that you'll want Danika to go to college."

Solf glanced at the girl again, who looked as though the comment took her by surprise. "Well…I hadn't actually thought about it," Solf admitted.

Richard turned in his seat. "Do you want to go to college, Danika?"

"I…I want to…but…"

"You know, you can apply for scholarships. Bear in mind," he added, "that being a minority, you could be eligible for grants, even being half a minority."

Danika's brow furrowed as she thought about that. "I think...I think I'd rather be accepted because I'm a good student."

 _Yeah, well, money from the government isn't something you throw rocks at._ This was something else Solf didn't want to think about.

"Atta girl!" Richard smiled at her like she was one of his own kids. "How's the apartment hunting going?"

Danika smiled back. "I've found a bunch already!" she said. "The pictures look really nice!"

"They're probably photoshopped," Solf sniffed.

"Your lease is up at the end of this month, I noticed," Richard said. "That's just a little over two weeks. I wouldn't spend too much time turning up my nose at some of these places."

Solf sighed to himself. He wasn't sure Danika was the best judge. She used to live on a goat farm.

By the time Richard left, leaving behind all kinds of promises and assurances that things weren't so bad, Solf felt a lot less panicked, but he felt depressed. No more luxury apartment. No more vacations on the Donbachi Riviera. No more custom suits. No more state-of-the-art electronics. He would just be another sad little prole who had to wash his own sheets and clean his own toilet.

He returned to the office and dropped into the chair in front of his desktop and clicked on the free cell icon. He idly moved the cards around, clicking on a new game the moment he had to actually think about strategy.

Danika sat back on the divan. "I've got a list of thirty apartments."

"Thirty!" Solf groaned. He turned in his seat. "I don't want to look at thirty apartments!"

She looked back at him, a little surprised but with forbearing patience, like he was a spoiled child. He was, and he was only now starting to realize just how much. "We don't have to look at all of them. I bookmarked the sites so you can look at those first and then pick the ones that look best."

"I can harldy wait." He closed the free cell game and stood up, stretching. They'd been in that office for nearly two hours, crunching numbers and tweaking his life to the point where he could no longer recognize it. He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a few moments to visualize life in the slow lane.

Danika looked up at him, her blue eyes warm with concern. "Father, I think it's going to be all right. I don't think _Zhaarad_ Barnett would tell you that if it weren't true."

Solf sighed. As difficult an adjustment as it was going to be, she was probably right, objectively speaking. They weren't going to be homeless. They wouldn't starve. They- -

They.

When did he start thinking _they_ without actually thinking about it?

Danika started to get up. "Let me fix you something nice for dinner."

Solf shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

Danika sat back down, apparently undaunted. "You might be later. Then I'll fix something."

"Whatever."

He continued to just stand there for a few moments, staring at the carpet. He had absolutely no motivation to move from that spot. Anything he would normally do would remind him too much of the life he was going to have to leave behind.

"Do you want to look at some of these apartments?"

"No. I really don't want to do that right now."

Danika give a quiet little sigh. "We don't have that much time, you know. _Zhaarad_ Barnett said- -"

"The lease is up an the end of the month," Solf recited wearily. "Yeah, I know."

Danika scooted over and patted the spot beside her on the divan. "Come and sit," she said, gently insistent. "I'll show you the nicest ones I found."

Solf stirred and turned his head to eye her narrowly. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Danika looked up at him, surprised. "I'm just trying to help."

Solf rubbed his forehead. There was a ball of a dull ache somewhere behind it, probably from lack of sleep. "Okay, fine. I'll look at a couple," he grumbled.

..........................................................................................................................................

"No."

"What's wrong with this one? I think it's nice."

"It's too...brown."

"All right." Danika went back to her bookmarks and clicked on yet another page. He had managed to reject twenty apartments so far. "This one's mostly blue," she remarked.

Solf stared at the screen, feeling his brain turn to cheese. "It looks just like the other one, Except blue."

Danika was silent for a few moments. Then she asked, "Well, what color would you like?"

"I don't know." Solf leaned his head back against the divan and closed his eyes. "Red and white stripes. Like a circus tent."

" _Eh-h!_ " Danika finally threw her hands up. "Papa! Now you're just being- -"

Solf lifted his head. "Wait. What?"

Danika put a hand up to her mouth, chagrined. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to snap like that!"

"No, not that. You called me Papa."

Danika stared at him for a moment, then her eyes widened. "Oh!" She seemed more embarrassed by that. "I'm sorry! I'm just so used to hearing my cousins call my uncles Papa!" she explained quickly. "And...and Mama would call you Papa when she talked to me about you! It just slipped out! I won't- -"

Solf waved his hand. "Don't get all bent out of shape about it. I'm not complaining. Up till now you've been calling me Father, which is kind of, you know, formal."

"I meant to be respectful," Danika replied. She was acting like she'd committed some awful faux pas.

"Okay, I appreciate that. It's just kind of...stiff. I think we're past that point."

Danika watched him cautiously. "What would you prefer?"

Solf considered that for a moment. "Papa's fine, I guess." He smirked a little. "Just don't call me Dad. I called my father that and look where it got me"


	26. Chapter 26

"He looked like he'd been up all night or something." Rhonda, one of the front office ladies, dipped a chicken tender (not from the school cafeteria, by the look of it) into a small cup of honey mustard sauce. "Pale…well, he's always kind of pale…dark circles under his eyes…"

"I saw him going into King's office," Alonzo Garfiel added with a nod. "He was looking pretty glum, I have to say."

"Yeah, and he didn't look any better coming out," Rhonda said.

"Does he ever look cheerful?" Rebecca Catalina remarked. "I mean, I don't think I've ever met anyone who enjoys life as little as he does."

"I don't know," Roy Mustang mused, folding his pizza slice in half. "My old physics professor probably has him beat."

Rebecca lifted a brow at him. "Don't beat around the bush, Roy. I know you mean Riza's dad."

"Okay, fine," Roy replied unperturbed. "Then you know what I'm talking about."

"Well, all I can say is Solf looked kind of shredded," Rhonda concluded. She paused, making a thoughtful little grimace at nothing in particular, then said, "Haunted."

"Haunted, huh?" Heymans Breda smirked. "Guilty conscience, maybe?"

Rebecca shook her head. "I don't think he has one of those."

"Well, something's following him around, tugging on his ponytail," Garfiel said.

"You know," Maes Hughes said, "His girl Danika was looking a little subdued during second period. That's out of the ordinary for her."

"Isn't she a nice kid?" Heymans said. "Really makes you wonder, doesn't it? How she could come from such a...you know…"

"Oh, just say it, Hey!" Garfiel huffed. "Schmuck!"

Heymans smiled and pointed at him. "That came outta your mouth, Gar, not mine."

Garfiel shrugged. "Fine. They're probably going to cut shop anyway. All the money goes to athletics."

Andakar was starting to get used to how active the teachers' lounge was. He continued to have lunch there almost to spite himself, sort of like immersion therapy. The other teachers were not unpleasant company. They were all good people. Sometimes the conversations were even of an intellectual nature and interesting to listen to. But more often than not, it was gossip. When he first began to join them, he did not know who they were talking about. As time went on, he became more familiar with the rest of the faculty, at least by name. He was not normally interested in the subject matter.

This time was a little different.

"Danika wasn't at temple services on Saturday," he remarked quietly.

The faces around the table all suddenly turned to him. He wasn't sure if the interest had more to do with the fact that he actually spoke than with what he had said.

"She isn't the sort to skip services unless she has a good reason," he went on. "When she came to class this morning, I mentioned that she was missed on Saturday. She said that her father wasn't feeling well and couldn't drive her."

This news was nodded upon and mulled over. "Whatever happened must have been Friday, maybe," Garfiel mused.

"Her friends seemed to be concerned about Danika, too," Andakar went on. "I heard Lan Fan ask her if everything was all right. She said they were better, but she didn't give any details."

"Well, sounds like we've got a bit of a mystery on our hands," Maes said archly.

"Could be he was just sick," Rebecca said with a shrug. "Something he ate instead of something eating him."

"Possibly," Andakar conceded. "I don't think Danika would lie. But she might make excuses for her father out of loyalty. I'm more inclined to believe that he simply refused to drive her anywhere."

"Poor kid," Garfield muttered. "I can't even imagine what life with Solf is like."

"Well, considering how seriously bucks up he is," Rebecca said, "I think it may not be so bad.""

"Money does not buy happiness, Becca," Garfield said primly.

"Yeah, but it can buy you a better class of misery," Rebecca countered.

"That sounds likes Solf right there," Heymans said with a wry grin.

Alex Armstrong nodded. "Bless'd, to be most accursed, rich, only to be wretched, his great fortunes are made his chief afflictions."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't mind being afflicted like that," Roy said. The others chuckled and nodded in agreement.

Andakar didn't nod. He had briefly felt a bit of perverse satisfaction at his contribution to the gossip mill. But even though it concerned Kimblee, that satisfaction had faded, leaving a sour taste.

.....................................................................................................................................................

"It's SRO out there, Reverend."

Seymour Cornello nodded and smiled with satisfaction at his reflection. He checked the knot on his white silk tie, one of dozens. Halfway through the evening's healing service, he would dramatically tear it off in a wild sweat. He would toss it aside indifferently, so immersed would he be in drawing the "demons of disease" out of one of his faithful. The tie would get snapped up—no, fought over—by members of his flock. The victors would tearfully press the tie to their bosoms. They would take them home and enshrine them in a frame or a jewelry box or under their pillows or God knows where. Being enrapt in the power of Leto, Cornello would not be aware of the clawing and hair pulling over the ties. He would watch the video later over a tall whiskey and laugh his ass off.

Giving his cuffs a final tug and smoothing down his pristine white jacket, Cornello headed for the door. "Show time, Brother Gamelan."

"Praise Leto," Gamelan replied with a dutiful tone and an enigmatic smile, opening the door for the Reverend.

Gamelan, Storch, Yakovlev, and Smith, Cornello's inner circle, were big men, dressed in somber black. They followed him, two by two, down the thickly carpeted corridor. As they neared the stage, they could hear The Sunshine Kids leading the congregation in song, warming them up while also keeping them in their effing seats. The song had a nice beat to it and Yakovlev bounced and danced a little as they waited in the wings. Smith snickered and joined in. The other two rolled their eyes at their colleague's antics. Then Cornello shot him a warning look over his shoulder.

"Let's conduct ourselves with a little more dignity, shall we, Brother Yakovlev?" the Reverend suggested. "We're not here to look like dorks."

Yakovlev, who was new to this privileged position and not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, gave a little grin and drew himself up. "Sorry, Reverend," he replied. "Just getting into the spirit."

"That's my job, son," Cornello explained patiently. "You're my silent muscle, remember." He turned back around but could hear Smith give another snicker. He was another new one. Couple of idiots, really. But they weren't hired for their smarts, after all. They were here to keep the crazies off him.

The applause awarded to the Sunshine Kids went on for a half a minute or so, then a loud pipe organ fanfare emanated from the speakers and a great cry of gladness arose. The rich blue velvet curtains that served as a backdrop for the warm-up act parted and the Reverend Seymour Cornello, mouthpiece and channeling vessel of the Sun God Leto, stepped forward to receive the adoration of his flock.

The auditorium was, as Brother Gamelan had informed him, standing room only. There were additional security men placed among the faithful, keeping them from rushing the stage because that had actually happened. Some of these people professed their adoration, which was fairly gratifying and looked good on video, but somebody might get hurt, like him. Then there were the misguided ones, the ones who held some sort of grudge against him. Those were the problematic ones, not to mention dangerous. One of these days one of those nuts would be packing heat.

He'd been doing this for years, but he never got tired of this moment. It never, ever got stale and it never, ever diminished, no matter what doubters and critics and naysayers would say. Wasn't the vestibule lined, floor to ceiling, with testimonials? Was there not proof, on video no less, that he was able to make the lame walk and the blind see (that one took some planning)? Did he not bring the ailing and dying back to life and health? It was not his doing, of course, but that of the Sun God Leto, of Whom he was but the humble servant, the only one chosen above all others and the only soul alive to ever hear the deity speak. But humble, nonetheless.

"Welcome, welcome, my children!" he called out, his voice amplified by his head set.

Excited greetings were called back to him. "Once again we gather together, our little community…" He smiled with gentle irony. The church seated about 1400 worshippers and they all whooped and cheered at his humor. This is what took these things so damn long. He smiled broadly and raised his hands to quiet them down. Then he clapped his hands together. "Let's open with some words of praise for our protector Leto, without whom we would be lost and alone!"

The congregation settled down and some soft music, organ chords with the tremolo cranked up, played over the speakers. He rambled on as he usually did. It didn't seem to matter how he couched it, they sucked it up like sponges that had been sitting out in the sun. He never quite ceased to be amazed. Just how wretched were their lives before they came here?

He didn't go on too long, just long enough for the congregation to start getting restless. They were here to see him work his miracles. That was what strengthened their faith. They needed to see. They wanted a show. And he would not disappoint.

Yes, sometimes there were failures, but they were not, of course, his failures. He always put forth the disclaimer that only those whose faith equaled that of his extraordinary gift would receive the healing that they sought. Doubt would only cripple them further. Doubt would keep them prisoners of their misery. Even those who swore their faith was boundless were already guilty of pride, and Leto would teach them the errors of their ways. Doubt, along with his carefully chosen ringers, was his ace in the hole.

Finally, the moment came, and he nodded to his attendants, who moved to flank him as he descended the steps from the stage to the floor of the auditorium. His eyes travelled over the sea of faces that gazed back at him with love, awe, and anticipation.

He paused and closed his eyes. "Marcia Brent!" he called out, drawing from the list of names he had been given earlier. "Marcia Brent, are you with us tonight, sister?"

"Here, Reverend, here!" a voice sobbed out.

Cornello opened his eyes to see a woman pull herself up with her walker from a seat on the aisle just ahead. She was a frail old woman. Looked kind of like she didn't have much more time on this earth.

"Sister Marcia!" Cornello approached her and held his hand out to her. The old woman clutched it with one hand, her other gripping the handle of her walker. "I see you want to rid your golden years of this accursed walker, am I right, sweetheart?"

Well, duh. But his remark was treated as divine insight. "Yes, Reverend!" Marcia sobbed. "Yes!"

"Is your faith strong, Marcia? Is your heart pure? Is your petition humble?" Cornello adjured her.

Marcia, too overcome, could only nod. Cornello smiled down on her lovingly and pressing his hands to either side of her head in preparation. "Then let the- -"

" _FAKE!_ "

Every head turned toward the rear of the auditorium. Even as the security guards were converging on the spot, a middle-aged man stood up at the end of one of the back rows. He raised his fists and shook them. "You're a damn fake, Cornello! My wife is dead and you said you'd save her!"

Despite his deep annoyance, Cornello maintained a beatific smile. "My poor brother!" he said in an even tone that was broadcast out of the speakers. "It all falls to the strength of your faith. I did my part."

Many heads nodded amongst the congregation. Others looked a little anxious. "Your part?" the man cried out indignantly. "You're a cheat, a liar, a fraud- -" He was nearly in tears and choked on his own ire.

"Please, my brother," Cornello went on sorrowfully. "I'm sorry for your loss, truly I am! But if your faith was clouded by even the smallest doubt, then I'm afraid your dearly beloved wife was bound from the very beginning to be taken."

There were scattered responses of Praise Leto and you tell it, Reverend from the rest of the faithful. The bouncers reached the man and gently but with firm purpose extricated him from his seat. "Go forth, brother!" Cornello called out at he was escorted, struggling, from the auditorium. "Go forth and let go of your anguish. We will pray for you!"

There was some relieved chatter for a few moments. While Cornello turned back to Sister Marcia, he made a mental note to ream his staff's asses over the coals about being a little quicker off the mark. He did not want to have to hire any more muscle. Putting a little more warmth into his smile, he placed his hands against the woman's head.

"Bless you for your faith and your patience, sister!" he praised her. "You will be rewarded!"

The sheer rush of adrenaline would probably give her a good ten steps without the walker once he was done with his spiel. He would then catch her (atrophied muscles took a little time to adjust, after all) and proclaim her cured. And who knew? Maybe she was.

......................................................................................................................................

"Yes? What do you want?"

Andakar regarded the woman cautiously. It seemed as though he had interrupted her in the middle of some task. She was wearing yellow plastic gloves and she gripped a sponge in one of her hands. She did not appear to be happy at the intusion. Every temple had its kitchen women. It was a practice that Andakar remembered as a child. They were self-appointed and fiercely territorial. They knew everything about everyone, and they terrorized anyone who messed up their temple, including the priests.

"I'm looking for _Saahad_ Bozidar."

"He's over at the hospice. _Baata_ Taruna probably won't last the night."

Andakar nodded. Being fairly new to this temple, he only knew the elderly woman as a name on the list of those whose easy and peaceful entrance into Ishvala's bosom everyone was asked to pray for.

"Is _Saahad_ Imir here?"

The woman jerk her chin up. "He's on the roof, mending the leaks."

Andakar hesitated and the woman gave a little impatient huff. "Come along!"

She bustled out the door that was situated toward the back of the temple and headed along the wall and around the corner. Andakar hurried after her. She stopped at the foot of a tall ladder that was propped against the edge of the roof.

" _Hai, Saahad!_ " the woman called up sharply.

After a moment, Imir's face appeared over the edge. "Yes, _Zhaarana_ Ruva?"

_Zhaarana_ Ruva jerked a yellow latex thumb at Andakar. "You have a visitor!"

"Ah!" Imir waved. "Come on up!"

_Zhaarana_ Ruva waved at the ladder. "Go on up, he says," she told Andakar, as though he needed to be told twice.

"Thank you, _Zhaarana_ ," he murmured.

"And don't go clumping around on the roof too hard," she added tersely. "All we need is more leaks!"

Andakar nodded as the woman bustled back. He mounted the ladder and climbed the rungs. He stepped over the lip of the roof and stood for a moment, taking in the view of the neighborhood that surrounded the temple's little corner lot. The temple itself had a domed roof, but the offices, a few classrooms, and the priests' living quarters were squeezed into a rectagular structure attached to the rear of the temple. It was a typical flat PVC roof, originally applied in rolls, which meant that the seams tended to leak over time. The whitish-grey surface was blotched with black smears of rubberized flashing cement. Imir handed Andakar a roll of fiberglass membrane along with a pair of scissors.

"Here. Make yourself useful."

Imir knelt down and scooped a blob of black flashing cement from a three-gallon bucket with a wide-bladed putty knife. He smeared it onto a foot square portion of the roof. "Cut me a piece of that about a foot long," he told Andakar.

Andakar rolled out slightly more than one foot of the fiberglass mesh, cut it with the scissors, and handed it to Imir. The priest pressed it into the wet cement with the putty knife, then added another layer of cement. "So what brings you by? I mean, aside from the pleasure of getting your head bitten off ?" He gave a guilty little grin. "Ishvala forgive me! Those ladies are wonderful people, honestly. They fuss over Bozidar, but I've only been assistant here for four years, so I'm just a pest. If I put so much as a fork back in the wrong place, I hear about it." He chuckled. "So what brings you by?"

"It's not really important," Andakar said dismissively. The moment had more or less passed and he wasn't really inclined to follow through with his original intention. "Are there a lot of leaks?"

Imir nodded, surveying the rest of the roof. "Yeah. They all seemed to spring up at once." He grinned up from his crouch. "When it rains, it pours." He considered Andakar for a moment. "If something's bothering you, tell me. I'm not just the handyman."

Andakar shrugged. "I just…I know it's not a good time, but I was hoping to…" He shook his head. "It doesn't—"

"Yes, it does matter. You, of all people, shouldn't brood over something if it's really troubling you."

Andakar frowned a little. He knew what Imir meant, but he disliked being treated like there was something wrong with him. He let out a sigh of exasperation. "I had something I wanted to lay before the altar," he murmured.

"I figured," Imir said with a wry but understanding smile.

"But you're busy. It can wait."

Imir waved his putty knife. "That's okay. We'll kill two birds with one stone. We're in the proximity of the altar, and all the world lies within Ishvala's bosom, after all." He moved a couple of feet to another spot and knelt back down beside the bucket of cement. "Cut me another piece of that mesh and tell me what's on your mind."

It was a little unorthodox, but it seemed like a fair compromise. "I indulged in gossip."

Imir paused before scooping up another blob of cement. He looked up at Andakar with mild disbelief. "Are you kidding me?" He held up a gloved hand. "Sorry! Sorry!" he added quickly. "Go on."

Not entirely sure he wanted to, Andakar continued. "There's this…person I work with at the school. He's…inconsiderate, probably grew up spoiled, selfish—"

"I thought we were talking about _your_ sins, Andakar."

Andakar paused, collecting himself. "Yes. Of course. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Just bear that in mind. Go on."

"He…he isn't thought well of by the other teachers, and they were talking about him during lunch today," Andakar continued.

"And you jumped in on it?"

Andakar nodded. "Yes."

"Have you done that before?" Imir asked, smearing another patch with cement. "Cut me another piece of mesh, would you?"

"No, I haven't done that before." Andakar rolled out another length of fiberglass mesh and cut it off, handing it to Imir. "You know Danika Kafik?"

"The new kid on the block? Sure. I can hear her singing the chants." Imir pressed the mesh into the cement. "How does she fit in?"

"She's this man's daughter."

Imir nodded, mildly surprised. "Oh. Well, that explains a lot. I figured she's part Amestrian." He thought for a moment. "She wasn't here on Saturday."

"No, she wasn't. She's in one of my classes, and when I saw her on Monday, I asked her about that. She said her father wasn't feeling well and couldn't drive her. I can't help but think that he simply didn't feel like it because he's self-centered and doesn't have any respect for her culture."

Imir rubbed his forehead with the back of his wrist and thought for a moment. "So did you come up here to ease your soul or to vent about this guy?"

Andakar didn't answer right away and the priest regarded him with a shrewd look. He stood up, pulling off his work gloves. "Okay. Let me see if I've got this right. You tore someone down in gossip because you don't like him. You feel bad about the gossiping because you feel you should. You feel like you should feel bad about your dislike of this person, but you don't, and you feel bad about that. Now you're feeling just a little hypocritical."

Andakar frowned down at his feet while Imir gave his discourse. After a moment, he nodded. "I suppose you're right."

"It's one thing to want to correct an injustice. It's another thing to be judgmental. God knows Ishvalans are as hooked on gossip as anyone, but it can be destructive," Imir said with gentle firmness. "Rather than tear this guy down, offer a kindness. Tell him that you and Mattas can drive Danika to temple."

Andakar nearly blurted out an objection, but he could see the reason in Imir's words. He still didn't like the idea. It was Kimblee's responsibility, after all. But he nodded reluctantly. "I suppose I could do that."

"Yes, you could," Imir agreed. He put his hand on Andakar's head. "Receive the blessing of Ishvala in the hope that you find the peace that you seek."

Andakar let out a quiet sigh, not feeling particularly peaceful. He had come to unburden himself and now had an even more odious burden placed on him. "Thank you, _Saahad_."


	27. Chapter 27

Solf swallowed a couple of ibuprofen before leaving his office for lunch patrol. His head was buzzing with a dull ache, which he was pretty sure was from lack of sleep and not nearly enough coffee. While he downed a third NSAID, he made a mental note to pick up some sort of sleep aid on the way home. He couldn't spend another night like the last few or he'd be trashed. It wasn't even the lying awake that bothered him. It was what haunted him while he lay there. The bleakness of his future stretched out before him like a road covered with thumb tacks and lego pieces and he didn't have any shoes on. He tended not to think ahead at the best of times, other than to plan his vacation in the summer. That wasn't happening.

It didn't help that King had been a little less than sympathetic to his plight. In fact, he seemed to think that it might actually be a positive thing. Character-building. Something invoked by people who were not being troubled by Real Life trying to crawl up their asses and throttle them from the inside. On Monday, King cheerfully offered to lend a kindly ear if Solf ever needed someone to talk to, and after spouting a few more high moral platitudes, he let Solf know that he had other stuff to do. It was now near the end of the week and King hadn't even brought it up again. So much for a kindly ear. Solf wasn't so sure he really wanted to take advantage of it anyway. It would probably get back to his father somehow, like everything else apparently did.

Solf headed out of his office and toward the door that led to the hallway, which opened before he got there. He almost groaned out loud. It had to be New Guy Ruhad, and judging by the way he was nailing Solf with that red-eyed glare instead of glancing away to pretend he wasn't there, he was probably looking for him. Coming to gloat? Solf knew they talked about him in the teachers' lounge. His personal life seemed to be pretty much open season these days.

"Yes?" Solf asked with off-putting terseness.

"I wanted to let you know," Andakar replied, not put off in the slightest, "that my brother and I would be happy to give Danika a ride to temple if you are unable to take her."

Solf wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it sure wasn't that. For a brief instant, that actually didn't sound like such a bad idea. But then his pride, which had been languishing recently after getting kicked repeatedly in the head, raised itself up.

"No thanks," Solf replied coldly. "I don't need your help."

He probably didn't need to add that last part but he did it anyway. Andakar scowled, either angry or offended. Solf didn't really care. As long as he went away. No such luck.

"I offered because Danika was unable to go this past weekend," he persisted. "If it's an inconvenience to you—"

"It's not!" Solf snapped. "Something came up, that's all. I'm perfectly capable to driving my kid where she needs to go. This is not to mention," he added with a warm glow of self-righteousness, "that I actually barely know you, and I've sure as hell never met your brother. I'm not going to let my kid drive off somewhere with people I don't know. So like I said. Thanks, but no thanks!"

Andakar looked at him with something like disgust and shook his head. "Fine!" he muttered. "Sorry I asked."

Solf slipped past him to get to the door. "No problem."

He headed out to the cafeteria. By this time, somewhere in the back of his mind he was kicking himself a little. Now he was totally stuck with having to go out every Saturday morning for the foreseeable future. Still, he felt like he'd come out on top of that encounter. This was all beside the fact that he seriously did not want that guy to know where he lived.

.........................................................................................................................................................

Andakar went back up to his classroom, craving solitude rather than the company of the teachers' lounge. He felt like a fool. What had he actually hoped to accomplish? Did he really think he could bridge the gulf of animosity between him and Kimblee? He appeared to have made it wider, which, frankly, suited him just fine. On the other hand, he had failed Imir, failed the priest's admonition.

He thought he was beginning to regain his ability to talk to and interact with people. He thought that spending time with the other teachers would wear away at the scar tissue around his soul that had built up during his sorgun. While being a self-imposed punishment, the exile was also supposed to serve as a liberating experience, a time for spiritual cleansing. A reboot, to use a more modern term. It didn't quite work. He was not, he discovered, his own best company.

He reached his classroom and went in, closing the door. He sat at his desk and rested his forehead on the heels of his hands. He did not want to think that the _sorgun_ had been a colossal mistake. An entire year of his life gone to no purpose. He had hoped to come out of the desert with a clearer vision of the path his life was meant to take.

 _You must be_ attached. _Not to material things, no. You must be_ in _the world. You are destined for something great. What that is I cannot tell you. When it is revealed to you, you must be prepared to recognize it for what it is because greatness is reflected only in the eyes of others._

Saahad Logue's words often echoed in his mind. He flirted with the temptation to dismiss the venerable holy man's words as senile ramblings. The old cleric was a good, good man, but he was undeniably really old. Andakar quickly dismissed such thoughts. He had to finally admit to himself that what he had done was run away like a coward. Yes, he had wanted to do something great, to make some sort of positive impact on the world, but he had wanted to do so on his own terms. He wanted to be in control of his own destiny. Now he struggled at it.

He was stirred from his thoughts by a tapping at his door. It opened just a little and two heads peeked around it, one dark, one fair.

"Mr. Ruhad?" he heard Winry Rockbell call softly, as though he might have been asleep. "Is it okay if we come in?"

He sat up, pulled back stumbling into the real world. "Y-yes. Of course. Come in."

The door opened wider and Winry and Danika came in together. "Are you sure it's okay?" Winry asked again. "We didn't want to interrupt your lunch."

He wasn't eating anything. He wasn't hungry. "No, it's fine." He looked up at the two girls. They gazed back at him with expectant, hopeful faces. He probably had a face like that when he was their age. "What can I do for you?"

"We were wondering if you could translate one of these poems for us," Danika asked as Winry held out a parcel wrapped in a bubble wrap envelope.

Andakar took the parcel and slid the book out. It was the collection of poems by Rihir. It was actually his brother's book and it was very old. He was pleased with the fact that Winry was taking such good care of it. He glanced back up at them. "You probably could have translated this, couldn't you, Danika?"

The girl shook her head. "It's in the Old Tongue. I can read it a little, but not enough. I would have studied it in school next year, but…" She gave a little shrug, meaning that being in an Amestrian school, she would not now have that opportunity.

Andakar returned his attention to the book. A slip of paper marked a place, and with an odd twinge, he knew before he even opened the book which poem the slip of paper marked. He turned to _The Wanderer_. The short poem, written in the elegant characters of the Old Tongue, was so deeply familiar to him, like an old friend with whom he'd had a tempestuous relationship.

"What made you pick this one?"

"'Cause Danika said this one was really famous," Winry replied. "It gets discussed a lot. And it's supposed to be unfinished."

Andakar nodded. "There is a lot of debate about that," he agreed. He recalled discussing it briefly with Det. Miles a few weeks ago.

"What do you think?" Danika asked.

"I think it is unfinished. Rihir was a priest in the eleventh century. He tended to use his poetry to teach. He wouldn't have left the lesson half-taught." He gave a slight shrug. "That's what I always told my students."

Winry's eyes grew a little wider. "You taught poetry? I mean, I guess it would be Language Arts or something."

"I used to teach most subjects, yes." That was a long time ago.

"That's cool," Winry observed. "So, could you translate this, please? I mean, when you have time!"

He knew it by heart in the original as well as his own interpretation in Amestrian. He picked up a pen from a cup on one side of his desk. "I can do it right now."

"Ooh! Sweet!" Winry thrust a spiral-bound notebook at him. "You can write it in here!"

Andakar took the notebook and set it on the desk. Winry opened it and quickly flipped through the first several pages, which covered with a myriad of doodles and writing facing every which way. When the next available blank page presented itself, Andakar considered it for a moment, then started writing.

_**I tell of one whose soul yearned to defy its mortal shell.  
He felt indeed his flesh would crack and split,  
Releasing a brilliance that could blind.  
The sear of Ishvala's flaming orb was akin to that which burned in his heart.  
But the blanket of the night did nothing to slake the heat  
And in the darkness he smoldered like an ember.  
At times he wished for death, not because he hated life,  
But to be free of the agony that kept him inside himself.  
But the Creator would not release him untimely.  
He was in mind, then, to take his own life.  
But the Creator spoke to him in a dream.  
Child, said He. Thy despair is of thine own choosing.  
I do not repent of My gifts.**_

He handed the notebook back to a somewhat astonished Winry. The two girls, their heads together, read the writing silently, their lips moving slightly.

Finally, Winry nodded. "Yeah, I see your point. It really seems like there should be more."

Danika looked from the notebook to Andakar. "Is this your own translation, _Zhaarad_ Ruhad?"

"Yes."

"I like it!" Winry pronounced solemnly. "I like how you didn't try to make it rhyme. That would've been lame."

Andakar almost smiled. He took the antique book of poems and slid it back into its bubble wrap sleeve. He handed it back to Winry. "I'm glad you like it."

Winry pressed the bubble wrap parcel and the notebook to her chest. "Thanks so much!"

Danika waved as the two girls headed toward the door. "Bye, _Zhaarad_ Ruhad. See you later!"

"Yeah! Bye! Thanks again!" Winry called over her shoulder.

As easily as they slipped in, they slipped out. The door closed, blocking out the girls' retreating voices and other sounds in the hallway, and he was alone in a quiet room once more. It may have merely been a moment of distraction, and there was really nothing extraordinary about it, but he felt as though he'd been surrounded by a fog which had now begun to clear. His encounter with Kimblee felt less troublesome than it had a few minutes ago, more of a minor irritation now. He wasn't sure if this sensation would last, but he would enjoy it while he could. He got up from his desk and headed down to the teachers' lounge.


	28. Chapter 28

_He was back in the desert. Or perhaps he never left it. He sat in the shade of a large boulder, trying to clear his mind and meditate. But a jhavahal came and perched on top of the boulder and looked down on him. It felt as though this happened a lot, which would come as no surprise. His purpose in exiling himself was to purge his soul and grow closer to Ishvala, but his only company ended up being the demon. Figures._

_"Why dost thou waste thy time with such vain pursuits?" it asked him. Its voice hissed and sounded vaguely like Ahirom, the headmaster of the school he had been teaching at. He didn't dare turn his head to see what it looked like. Who knew what his subconscious imagination would conjure up?_

_As pointless as it was to try to carry on a conversation with such a creature, he did it anyway. "Time is all I have, and I have it in abundance."_

_"Ha!" the demon scoffed. "Time runneth through thy hands like sand. It shifteth in the wind and careth naught for thee."_

_"Go away!" he growled at it._

_The demon laughed, a dry, irritating sound. "Thou knowest full well it were not that easy to rid thyself of my company. I will be with thee until the end of thy days." It chuckled again._

_He was struck with a sinking despondency at those words, knowing them to be true. "What do you want of me?"_

_"Only a little of thy soul," the jhavahal replied. It sounded closer, crawling down the side of the rock. "A mere morsel a day until there is nothing left. Hast thou a use for it, after all?" it sneered at him._

_He shook his head. "My soul belongs to Ishvala."_

_"And where, pray, is this Creator for whom thou sits and waits like a forsaken slave upon a master who has cast him aside long ago?" Its voice was at once silky and grating. "I will not forsake thee. We three are good company, are we not?"_

_He frowned, still not willing to look toward the source of that voice. "Three?"_

_"Me, thee, and thy guilty conscience, which giveth me life," it chuckled. "And I have it in abundance!"_

He woke himself up, not because he was startled—the jhavahal's words came as no surprise, after all. He was tired of the conversation, which was destined to just go around in circles, the way it always did.

....................................................................................................................................

Rose slid a tray of salted caramel muffins into the display case, glancing over the top of the case at Solf, who was sitting in what bad become his usual spot. When he came in he ordered a regular coffee rather than the cappuccino he'd been getting. He noticed the half-price basket of yesterday's pastries that sat at the end of the counter and added an almond-filled croissant to his order.

Rose was careful not to say _we missed you last week_. She felt more or less neutral about him, but she didn't want to give him the impression that she had actually missed him.

"You're back," was what she settled for.

"Yeah," he replied with a shrug. "Some stuff happened last week. Pretty much spent the weekend at home."

Rose just nodded and poured him a cup of regular joe. He was never exactly perky, but today he seemed particularly toned down, probably still recovering from whatever "stuff" happened last week. He was now intent on the screen of his phone, a frown on his face. While Rose did the rounds of wiping tables and picking up trash, Solf put his phone down with a weary sigh and rubbed his eyes.

Rose brushed some crumbs from one of the tables into her cupped hand, then moved toward the next empty table, passing Solf on the way. She glanced down at the screen of his phone, vaguely curious. Then she paused. He was looking at the web site for her apartment complex.

Solf caught her sudden interest. He held the phone up. "What do you think?"

Rose gave a little flinch. "I'm sorry!" she said quickly. "Didn't mean to look at your stuff! It was just…you know…there…"

"It's okay," Solf assured her with a smile. "But seriously. What do you think of this place? I have to look for a new apartment this weekend," he added, making it sound like some sort of rueful confession. He handed her the phone.

Rose dumped her crumbs into her apron pocket and took the phone. She made a show of studying the photo. She even enlarged the picture a little. She made a little grimace. "I dunno. Looks like a dump."

"They all look like dumps to me," Solf said as she handed the phone back to him.

"Well, that one looks like a dumpier dump." Rose actually thought their apartment was pretty nice, but she really didn't feel comfortable telling him that. "What's wrong with where you're at now?"

"Too expensive," Solf replied. He sighed, idly scrolling through more pictures. "Which sucks, because I really liked that place. It just…well, like I said. Some stuff happened." He looked up at her. "Do you rent?"

"Um…yeah."

"What's your place like?"

Rose hesitated, knowing she shouldn't hesitate too long because it would totally sound like she didn't want to tell him and she knew what he really wanted to ask was where she lived. A go-getter Greg scenario was beginning to form in her head and, not surprisingly, it wasn't pretty. "It's okay," she said, hopefully after not too obvious a pause.

He flashed her that smile that was supposed to be disarming but was well-practiced. "Just okay?"

Rose shrugged. "Yeah. I mean, it's a decent sort of place. It's quiet most of the time. Well," she added in a flash of inspiration, "the couple on one side fights a lot"—which was true, mostly—"and the couple on the other side has really noisy sex"—which happened once so it wasn't really a lie. "Stuff stops working every now and then and it takes the maintenance guy a long time to get around to fixing it so a lot of the time we just fix it ourselves."

Solf's smile faded just a little. "Wow. Sounds perfect," he remarked with heavy irony.

"What can I say? Luxury living is kind of subjective. One person's trash is another person's treasure, you know?"

Solf made a wry smirk. "The problem with that is, some people set the trash bar a little too high."

"Mm…" Rose replied noncommittally. She was pretty much done with this conversation and was starting to move away—she was on the clock, after all—but Solf wasn't done yet.

"The thing is…" he started with a studied self-consciousness. "If I was just looking for the ultimate bachelor pad with a smaller price tag, that'd be one thing. But it's not just me."

Rose paused. He definitely wanted to let her in on something, but did she really want to know what it was? "Oh, yeah?" she found herself asking while mentally kicking herself.

Solf fiddled with his phone for a moment. "Yeah. I…uh…have a kid."

Rose was genuinely startled and she stared right at him, something she did not do to people. "No shit?" She very nearly blurted out Andakar never told me that but caught herself. "Well, that's…cool. Is it cool?"

"It's…" Solf really seemed to have to think about that one. "It's been kind of a life-changer."

"Well, yeah, I guess it would be." Rose didn't know why she was suddenly so fascinated. She disliked people poking into her life and she tried to return the favor, but this was so unexpected. "So, is it a boy or a girl?"

"A girl." Solf's mouth quirked in a little half-grin, apparently pleased with her reaction.

"How old is she?"

"She's…" Solf's grin faded a bit. "I think she's fourteen. Or fifteen. Around there."

"You don't know?"

"I'm pretty new to the dad thing." Solf shrugged. "She's only been with me for a little over a month. Her mom passed away recently."

Rose drew in a quick gasp, feeling an unpleasant twinge in the pit of her stomach. "Oh. Dude. I'm…that's awful!"

"Well, yeah, I guess." Solf waved his hand. "But we weren't exactly close."

His casual tone spoke volumes. Rose had had one relationship in her life and she had thrown herself into it body and soul. That wasn't something you just waved your hand at. Rose was silent for a moment, regarding Solf as though he had the words _Useless Baby Daddy_ stamped quite clearly across his forehead.

"Hey, Rose," Lucy called from the counter. "A little help over here?"

Rose looked over her shoulder at the line that was beginning to form at the register. "I gotta go," she told Solf briskly. "Good luck on the apartment thing."

"Thanks."

........................................................................................................................................

The temple was just starting to empty out, so Danika would be showing up any minute now. Solf slumped in the driver's seat while he waited, scowling.

He replayed his conversation with Rose once more, trying to figure out where it went south. One minute they were having a pretty nice talk, and the next she as good as blew him off. It wasn't because her sister had called her, either. There was a definite shift. It wasn't about the apartment thing. Was it because he had finally played the Danika card? He was tempted to blame that, but Rose had actually seemed interested in that news. All that was left was when he mentioned Danika's mom. By a process of elimination, that had to be it. Rose kind of froze up right about then.

He hadn't even said that much. Just that Zamfyra had died but it wasn't exactly a traumatic event because they hadn't been close. He had all but forgotten about her until that fateful day he got that call from the Wicked Witch of the East. If he faked a tragic devotion, he'd have to maintain it, and he was only willing to misrepresent himself to a certain point.

Why was this even bothering him? He would have thought that it didn't even matter anymore. It wasn't like he was any longer obliged to show up at Dad's house with a real live prospective future Mrs. Solf Kimblee Jr. And he didn't even quite get Rose. She was kind of standoffish. He had other things to worry about right now. He had to find a new apartment and he had to deal with downsizing and he had to deal with raising his kid. He didn't need another front to battle.

But he felt sort of committed to this particular endeavor. The rest of his life was going haywire. It would be nice if at least one aspect of it would go right. He wasn't quite ready to give up on it. He would go back and try to explain himself a little. Maybe he should just tell Rose the truth. She seemed like the type who was into sincerity. Then again, he hadn't even told Danika the whole truth.

Damn it! Where was that kid, anyway? Solf cast a glance at the front of the temple, just in time to catch Andakar Ruhad coming out through the doors and looking toward his car with resentment and disapproval. Solf looked away quickly and glowered out this windshield at nothing in particular until the big Ishvalan walked past in the company of another Ishvalan, presumably his brother. The brother wore glasses and looked like a college type.

It was going on fifteen minutes and the crowd was starting to thin out. Just as Solf was starting to really seethe, Danika finally emerged from the temple. An older, bald guy with a mustache was walking with her down the steps and, to Solf's horror, toward his car. He caught Danika's eye and she gave him a slightly nervous smile. What the hell was going on now?

Danika and the old guy approached the passenger side of the car and Danika opened the door. The old guy bent down to peer in with a smile somewhere under that 'stache. Solf had to struggle not to physically recoil.

"Good morning!" the old guy said cheerfully.

"Papa," Danika put in quickly. "This is _Saahad_ Bozidar. He's the senior priest here. _Saahad_ , this is my father, Solf Kimblee."

"It's good to finally meet you!" Bozidar reached a surprisingly muscular brown arm into the car to extend his hand.

Not being able to avoid it, Solf gave the hand a brief shake. "How's it going?" he replied, hoping that was all that was required of him.

"I just wanted to speak to you for a moment," Bozidar announced, causing Solf to feel his stomach twist into a knot. "Your daughter will be celebrating her fifteenth birthday soon."

Oh. Yeah. He knew that. Sort of. "Uh-huh. That's right," Solf said cautiously.

"The classes for our November and December birthdays are nearly finished," Bozidar went on. "But Saahad Imir would be happy to work with Danika so she can catch up."

Solf looked back and forth between the two Ishvalan faces, his own expression a blank. "Classes?"

"Oh, yes!" Bozidar seemed a little surprised that he should ask. "It's a very important time in a young person's life."

Solf's recollection of his own fifteenth birthday was a little murky. Solf Sr. stopped observing birthdays after Mom died, so Solf observed it on his own by getting into Dad's liquor cabinet and sampling everything. Needless to say, Dad was less than sympathetic about his massive hangover.

He glanced at Danika, trying to signal a subtle message of _what's going on what does this guy want from me can we go please like right now_. She seemed to pick it up. "I'll explain, Papa." She turned to the old guy. "Thanks so much, _Saahad_! Can we call you in a day or two to set everything up?"

Bozidar nodded, straightening up and backing away a little from the car. "Of course." He bent down one more time and waved. "A pleasure to meet you!"

"Yup!" Solf replied lightly, waving back. _Get in the car!_

Danika slid into the passenger seat and with a final wave to the old priest, she shut the door. Solf started up the car and pulled away from the curb.

"Okay, so, what is this?" Solf demanded.

Danika drew in a deep breath. "There's a ceremony—"

Solf rolled his eyes and muttered, "Of course there is."

"It's a coming-of-age ceremony," Danika went on, undaunted. "When we turn fifteen. It's like we're officially adults."

"Huh!" Solf scoffed. "You do _not_ become an adult when you turn fifteen."

"Well…" Danika lifted a shoulder. "It's a really old ceremony, back when girls got married at fifteen."

Solf made a grimace of distaste. "Seriously? So what are these classes for?"

"We study the precepts of our faith and about our culture and stuff we're supposed to know as we become adults. Morals and ethics, that sort of thing," Danika explained.

"Oh." Solf considered this for a moment. "That's sounds okay, I guess." He hesitated, then asked, "Uh…remind me when your birthday is?"

"December twenty-ninth"

"Oh, yeah, that's right." Solf really had no idea. "So you've got about a month to learn all that stuff. Then what happens?"

"Well, like I said, there's a ceremony, I recite a long prayer that I have to memorize and the priest gives me a blessing."

"And that's it?" Solf stopped at a red light and asked another question, one that he dreaded to hear the answer to. "Do I have to do anything?"

"Well…no," Danika replied in a way that sounded awfully open-ended. "Not really."

Solf was immediately on his guard. "What do you mean, not really?"

Danika didn't answer right away. She was getting good at realizing what would set him off. "Some people have parties afterwards," she said quietly.

"Oh." He wasn't really up on the teen party scene, but he was pretty sure he would rather have his fingernails pulled out than host one. Then again, this was apparently a big deal. Maybe he could send her and her friends out for pizza and a movie or something like that. Drop her off, pick her up. "Okay. Let me think about it."

"Really?" Danika seemed genuinely surprised. She smiled. "Thank you, Papa!"

 _Don't thank me yet, kiddo_. "Right now I have to think about finding a new apartment."

" _We_ have to think about it!" Danika said brightly. She pulled her phone out of her little purse and held it up. "I have the list of addresses right here!"

Solf sighed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Wonderful."


	29. Chapter 29

It was one of the most mind-numbing, soul-crushing experiences Solf had ever gone through without being in the company of his father. They had been at this for two days. They went from one shabby, cracker box apartment complex to another, skirting around other people's animals, children, family drama, breakup scenes, and cooking smells. The list got shorter and shorter and the possibilities got thinner and thinner. Yes, of course he was being overly particular. He was looking for a new living space that wasn't next door to hell.

Danika kept up a patient, cheerful optimism, but by early Sunday evening, even this was beginning to lose its shine. She stopped remarking that she thought this or that place "wasn't so bad." After taking a look at the Bel Air apartments (luxury living, exercise room, lap pool, minutes from prime shopping areas, if you lived here you'd be home by now) and leaving with yet another property manager's card and promising to come back for another look (not really), they got back in the car.

Danika checked the note pad on her phone with a sigh. "That was the last one," she announced. She sent him a cautiously worried glance. "I could start looking for more."

He almost said no. As much as he wanted to just leave it to Danika to go through the effort of finding these places, her choices had been less than ideal. Obviously her ideal wasn't the same as his. He would just have to grit his teeth and start searching himself.

"Yeah, I guess that's what we're going to have to do," he sighed, as much to answer her remark as to resolving his own thoughts, which contradicted each other, but this was coming from a crushed soul and a numbed mind. "Right now I just want to go home." He smirked mirthlessly. "While I can still call it that."

Danika nodded, knowing when she was beaten. They had gone pretty far afield in their search. Solf couldn't even recall ever seeing some of these neighborhoods before. They drove down Stanihurst Avenue, both of them silent, nursing their own thoughts. They came to a stop behind a line of cars waiting at a red light. The SUV in front of them had those stick figure family decals on the back window, boasting of three kids, two dogs, a cat, a turtle, and four fish. Solf didn't really want to know that about them and he resented having to be behind them.

"Papa! Stop!"

Solf flinched in his seat and glanced quickly around in alarm. "What? Why? I am stopped! What's the matter?"

Danika was plastered against her window, stabbing the glass with her finger. "Can we park here? Please! I want to look at this place!"

She sounded like her life depended on it. Solf peered past her through the window. He saw a block wall with lush mounds of ivy falling over the top. Behind the ivy was a thicket of dark green bushes and trees with fall foliage. A section of the ivy on the wall had been neatly trimmed to reveal a rectangle of glazed tiles, across which was painted the name _Pleasaunce Apartments_. Next to this was a wrought iron gate backed by a thin layer of painted plywood so that what was beyond the wall was not visible from the street. Over the gate was an archway covered in ivy. On the gate itself was a printed sign with lettering that was too small to read from where they were.

Solf wasn't sure what to think. You couldn't really see over all that vegetation from where he was sitting. But for it to be that lush, the place must be old. He didn't like old.

"Papa, please!" Danika begged. "We can look at this one and then I promise that'll be it for today!"

She was so worked up about this that he couldn't bear to say no. Actually, what he couldn't bear was the brave, pathetic, fake cheerful front she would put on to hide her disappointment. "Okay, fine," he sighed wearily. "We can take a quick look and then we're outta there."

As soon as the traffic started to move, he eased out of it and parked at the curb. They got out of the car and went up to the gate. The sign posted on the gate informed the reader in tasteful lettering that solicitors were not welcome and that rental inquiries were by appointment only. A telephone number was listed below.

On the one hand, that sounded pretty exclusive. It also meant that they could go home now. "Looks like we'll have to give them a call first, kiddo," Solf said.

Danika was undeterred. "We can look around, anyway. Nobody would mind that. Maybe we can make an appointment while we're here."

To Solf's horror and before he could stop her, Danika turned the handle on the right side gate and pushed it open. Solf hung back while she went in, waiting for someone to start yelling at her, but all he heard was a gasp of wonder. He peered around the edge of the gate at what was beyond.

Behind a small brick patio, flanked on either side by the thick foliage that was visible from the street, was a two-story building made of weathered concrete blocks. Red clay tiles edged the roof. Straight across from the gate was an arched entryway, almost like a tunnel. At the other end of this tunnel was a larger patio with more greenery and a fountain.

Danika dove on through the entryway with Solf following her nervously. "I really don't think we should just be plowing in here."

"It didn't say we couldn't," Danika replied readily.

That was the sort of logic that got people in trouble. He was almost tempted to physically tackle the girl and carry her back to the car, but by now she had stepped out into a center courtyard. Danika stood in one spot, turning and gazing around her with a look of growing delight on her face. Even Solf had to stop and look around for a few moments. The place reminded him of a bed-and-breakfast he'd stayed an on the Donbachi coast. He remembered that place very fondly. The red bricks of the patio were laid out in a curving basket weave pattern, radiating out from the fountain, which sat in the middle. Shrubbery and slender trees were arranged in small plots around the patio. The soft grey of the block walls contrasted with the dusty red of the tile roof, and the window frames were trimmed in a sage green and surrounded by wrought iron. There were other arched entryways like the one they had come through, two leading off to either side of the complex, if it could be called that, and one across from the front entry, leading to the back, presumably. In one corner was a sort of round tower with a small balcony off a set of double doors.

Danika put her fists up to her mouth and drew in an excited breath. "It's so _beautiful_!" she practically squealed.

"It's…different," Solf said, reluctant to quite agree just yet. He listened carefully for living noises. He could hear some faint music coming from one of the apartments. Some soft jazz, from what he could tell. He inhaled through his nose. Somebody was cooking something, but, it wasn't an unpleasant smell, really, and he realized that he was getting hungry. There were some quiet voices, just normal conversation. It wasn't a big place, so there probably weren't that many people living here. Solf didn't want to admit to himself that the place was passing so many of his tests. It was, after all, really old looking. Not beat-up or run-down old. Definitely well-maintained old, but it was still old.

Solf walked around slowly, wondering if there was an office somewhere. He heard approaching footsteps that were too heavy to be Danika's, and he felt a momentary panic of being caught someplace he perhaps should not be. But as Danika pointed out, the sign out front did not say they couldn't come in and look. That would be his story. He summoned up his courage and turned toward the rear entryway where the footsteps were coming from.

Then he froze. Stepping out into the patio, some books under his arm, was Andakar Ruhad. What's more, and what chilled Solf to the bone, was the fact that he walked in _like he lived here_. The Ishvalan looked up and saw Solf about the same time and they stared at each other in growing disbelief and suspicion.

" _Zhaarad_ Ruhad!" Danika called out in delight. "Do you live here?"

 _Oh hell to the no!_ Solf thought with a straight-into-quicksand-no-help-on-the-way-kiss-your-ass-good-bye feeling.

Thankfully, Andakar withdrew that piercing red-eye glare off Solf and turned a much gentler look in Danika's direction. "Yes, I do," he said. He glanced back at Solf for a moment then back to the girl. "What brings you here?"

"We're looking for a new apartment!" Danika announced.

Whatever reaction Andakar had to this, he kept it pretty well hidden. With one more glance cast toward Solf, Andakar gave a nod. "I see." He considered Danika. "I think you need to make an appointment. The owners are very particular."

 _They're obviously not that particular_ , Solf thought somewhat childishly. "We were just looking around. Danika wanted to check the place out."

"I love it here!" Danika gushed. "It's so pretty and old-fashioned!"

"It is," Andakar agreed. "It was built in 1928."

"Are you serious?" Solf practically blurted out. "It's almost a hundred years old!"

He was sure a snide remark was passing through the Ishvalan's mind just then, something along the lines of _congratulations, you can add!_

Danika stepped up to Andakar, a wistful look on her face. "Do you know if there's a vacancy?"

_Please, no, please, no!_

"Actually, I think there is," Andakar replied. "I don't know if anyone's looked at it yet."

Danika practically jumped up and down. "Oh! Oh! How do we make an appointment? Do we have to call the number? Is there someone we can talk to right now?"

Solf had never seen Danika this excited about anything. Andakar must have thought it was real cute because he actually smiled a little. He looked back and forth at the two of them, his smile slipping just a little when he looked at Solf. Then he began to head off toward the tower thing in the corner of the complex. He gestured for them to follow him. "The office isn't actually open right now, but the managers might be willing to talk to you."

Danika clapped her hands and hurried after the Ishvalan. Solf followed a bit more slowly. Most of his instincts were telling him to run. The others were telling him not to back down in front of the man he considered one of his nemeses, assuming you could have more than one. His father was pretty much at the top of that particular list.

Andakar went under yet another arch to a covered walkway that ended in a dark oak door. A ceramic plaque on the door proclaimed it to be the office. Andakar rang the bell. After a few moments the door opened, revealing one of the largest men Solf had ever seen. He might even be a little bigger than Alex Armstrong. He had a dark beard and dark, forbidding eyes. Solf nearly turned around right then.

But the man rumbled a greeting. "Hey, man," he said to Andakar. "What's up?"

"I'm sorry to bother you on the weekend, Mr. Curtis, but some people I know were interested in the vacant apartment."

 _Some people I know? You don't know me_. Solf kept his expression neutral. He even managed a smile as Mr. Curtis looked past Andakar at them, sizing them up and ruminating on what he saw. A little smile twitched at the corner of his mouth when he took in Danika's earnest expression and he gave a little tilt of his head. "Okay. It's a little unorthodox, but if you brought 'em special, Andakar, we can at least have a chat."

_Oh, he brought us special, did he?_

Mr. Curtis stepped back, opening the door wider. "Come on in."

They followed Andakar into the office, which looked like it was actually an apartment. The room they stepped into had curved walls, being a tower.

Mr. Curtis gestured to a couple of leather sofas on either side of a dark wood coffee table. "Have a seat." He went over to the foot of a curved staircase and looked up. "Hey, Izumi!" he bellowed. "You got a minute?"

A female voice called down, "Just a sec, sweetie!" After a few moments, a slender woman, her dark dreads tied back from her face, came down the steps. She was about a third of the size of her husband. "Hello, Andakar! How are you today?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Mrs. Curtis," Andakar replied, stiffly courteous. He had declined to take a seat.

Mrs. Curtis gave a flick of her hand. "Loosen up, honey! It's Izumi and Sig."

As she cast a polite but curious look at Solf and Danika, Sig spoke up. "I know this is kind of, you know"—he made quotes with his fingers—"not the way it's done, but I figured what the hell."

"Well, sure, dear," Izumi said easily, patting his hugely muscular arm. "Sometimes you just have to say what the hell. Besides, we can tweak the system if we feel it's in a good cause." She sat down on the couch and looked across at Solf and Danika. "So, welcome to Pleasaunce Apartments," she went on in a pleasant but crisply business-like tone. "As you probably know, we normally like to set up an interview first, but since Andakar brought you here—" She stopped and turned to the Ishvalan. "Are you, in fact, acting as a reference?"

Andakar hesitated, glancing at Solf, then Danika. "Well…yes, I suppose so."

Izumi gave him somewhat more intent look. "Are you sure? You're willing to put your name down on paper?"

With one more look at Solf, one that possibly held a message of either _you so owe me_ or _I really don't want to do this_ or perhaps both, he said, "Yes."

Solf was probably about as comfortable with this idea as Andakar was, but every time he thought he wanted to back out of this, Danika's increasing joy at the prospect kept pulling him in deeper. The girl could barely sit still.

Izumi turned her smile to Solf. "Well, then, how about some introductions?"

Whenever Solf introduced himself by his full name, unless whoever he was talking to lived in a cave, they would recognize the name and be duly impressed. Not by anything he had done himself, admittedly. "I'm Solf Kimblee, and this is my daughter, Danika."

The Curtises certainly looked surprised, but they looked wary as well. Considering what a piece of misery his father was, that was understandable. But it didn't bode well.

The Curtises exchanged a look, then Izumi turned back to Solf. "Solf J. Kimblee? As in Kimblee Enterprises?"

Solf stirred a little uncomfortably at what sounded like an accusing tone. "I'm Solf Junior. I'm not actually connected to my father's businesses." His father had never trusted him enough.

Izumi nodded. "Uh-huh." Her fingers tapped the arm of the couch. "Mr. Kimblee, were you aware that your father has been trying to buy this apartment building?"

"Uh…" He wasn't, so he said so. "No, I wasn't. I mean, I'm not surprised. He's into old buildings."

"The current owners are adamant about not selling, and we've heard that your father has gotten a little nasty about it," Sig rumbled.

Solf didn't know about that, but his father very often didn't tell him things. "That doesn't surprise me at all." He glanced at Danika, who was starting to look a little uneasy. "Is this going to make a difference in our…um…eligibility?"

"If you don't mind me being quite candid," Izumi replied, "if I thought that this was some sort of plan that your father came up with, it would definitely have an impact on your eligibility."

Well. His father had cut him off but his poison was still leaking into his son's life. Solf sat back and put on his administrator face. "I can assure you that I am in no way involved in any sort of venture of my father's. As a matter of fact…" He hesitated. He really didn't want to be too free with his private woes or much else for that matter, sure as hell not in front of Andakar Ruhad. "My father and I are…currently not speaking. I'm definitely not going to help him buy this building." His father would probably kick him out.

The Curtises seemed to take him at his word and they relaxed. "All right, then," Izumi said with a nod. "Let me explain out process. We don't advertise vacancies here. We go strictly by personal recommendations. The owners have given us the responsibility to evaluate prospective tenants based not just on backgrounds and credit scores, which we'll be checking on, of course, but whether they will appreciate this place for its aesthetic and historic value. They went to some expense to have it renovated and restored to its original glory."

"I appreciate it!" Danika blurted out. "We've been looking at so many apartments this weekend, and none of them are as wonderful as this one!"

Solf wanted to tell Danika to tone it down a little, but Izumi beamed at the girl. "You are such a cutie! So how do you and your father know Andakar?"

"He's my math teacher!" Danika replied. "And my father is assistant principal at my school!"

"Oh, I see!" Izumi gave Andakar a playfully sly look. "So he's kind of your boss, then, huh?"

Solf tried not to grin with perverse satisfaction as Andakar was forced to admit that this was true. "One of them," he replied quietly.

"Well, then!" Izumi said briskly. "I'm fairly well satisfied. What about you, dear?" She looked up at her husband.

Sig gave a roll of his shoulders. "I think we can call it good." He turned to Solf. "You wanna take a look at the apartment before we talk paperwork?"

Solf almost gave a start. This was getting starting to get real. "Oh. Sure. I mean...is that it?"

Izumi stood up. "Well, pending the background checks, of course, you've got a recommendation from one of our own tenants, which goes a long way in your favor." She smiled. "And I think your daughter's as cute as a bug. So, like Sig said, I think we can call it good."

Danika scampered on ahead with the Curtises as they crossed the courtyard. There was no stopping that kid now. She did pause to turn and wave to Andakar. "Thank you so much, _Zhaarad_ Ruhad!"

Andakar waved back then began to walk away. Solf would have been fine without exchanging another word with the guy, but he supposed there were certain conventions that had to be observed.

"Hey," he began. Andakar paused to look at him. "Uh…thanks."

The expression on the Ishvalan's face gave no illusion that they were in any way chill. "I did it for Danika."

"Tch!" Solf turned away. He should have saved himself the trouble. "No kidding?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based the Pleasaunce Apartments on this place, El Cabrillo in Hollywood, CA. I posted some pictures of it [here](http://sons-of-the-desert-fma.tumblr.com/post/116975599245/behind-a-small-brick-patio-flanked-on-either-side%20) on my tumblr if you'd like a visual.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I finally got this going again. This has kind of a complicated plot and I have to make sure I'm doing things in the right order. I sure hope I have.

“How come you never told me Solf has a kid?”

Rose still gripped the cup of coffee as Andakar was just taking hold of it. He studied the mildly indignant expression on her face while what she said registered.

“I don’t know,” he replied finally. “I just didn’t.”

“He was in on Saturday and told me. It really caught me by surprise.” Rose sounded a little accusing. “I’d have thought you’d be all over that, since she’s part Ishvalan.”

He had to admit, he sort of was. He had to admit to a certain proprietary feeling about Danika. But that might sound strange. He lifted his shoulders a little. “I’m trying to avoid gossip.”

“That’s not gossip. That’s need-to-know. I don’t like being taken by surprise. Forewarned is…a thing.” 

“Forearmed.”

“I knew that.”

Andakar considered Rose’s hand as it still gripped his coffee. “I’m sorry.”

Rose considered her hand as well, only just realizing that she was still holding on to the cup. She let go. “It’s okay. Just keep me up-to-date on any more bombshells so I know when to duck and cover.”

“I’ll try.”

“Have a good one.”

“Thank you. You, too.”

“Thanks.”

Andakar took his coffee and turned away from the counter to find both his brother and Lucy watching him with smirks on their faces. Andakar scowled. “Yes?”

Mattas shook his head, still smirking. “Nothing.” He leaned over and kissed Lucy. “I’ll call you.”

“You better, _tesoro_.”

Once in the car and one their way, Mattas grinned and chuckled to himself. At first, Andakar refused to rise to the bait, but it finally got a little too much. “What’s so funny?” he asked wearily.

“Not funny,” Mattas replied easily. “Just…pleased, I guess.”

“About what?”

Mattas glanced away from the road at his brother for a moment. “You are way too educated to play dumb, _zhiyu_.”

“Just say what you mean, Mattas!”

“You and Rose, okay?”

Andakar loved his brother so much he couldn’t even measure it, but there were times when he wanted to punch him. “Rose and I are not…” He had to take a moment to think of a word, partly because it was ridiculous to have to do so and partly because of a strange jab of anxiety. “…a thing,” he finished.

Mattas shrugged. “I wasn’t saying you were.”

“You implied it.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

Mattas sighed. “Fine. You’re not a thing.”

“Thank you.” Andakar said tersely. “I’m glad that’s been established.”

“Yeah, me too.” The punching thing might have crossed Mattas’ mind as well.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Solf had to find a moving company on very short notice. Richard recommended a couple and Solf called them. The first one was booked, but the second one could work as early as Friday. A guy came on Monday to give him an estimate, which he supposed he had to live with. Since it was only across town, it would only take a day. On Tuesday a bunch of boxes were delivered so they could start packing smaller items, which he and Danika spent the remainder of the week doing. Danika attacked the project with a fury. Solf just found it depressing.

Both he and Danika took Friday off from school, and a couple of young men showed up that morning to do the rest of the packing and the furniture lifting. They were Ishvalan, which should not have been a surprise, necessarily, but it just sort of seemed like they were all coming out of the woodwork these days. Solf knew he should probably hang around and keep an eye on them, but he really didn’t want to have to stand to one side and observe the whole process. 

Danika took a much different view. The two young men were laughing and nattering to each other in their native language, which Solf didn’t pay much attention to, considering he didn’t understand a word of it. Danika stayed unobtrusively nearby, listening to their conversation with a progressively deepening scowl. Then at one point she suddenly lit into them in furious, rapid-fire Ishvalan, leaving the young men, as well as Solf, stunned. They must have assumed she was just some Amestrian girl who didn’t know any more Ishvalan than her father did so they must have been making some uncomplimentary remarks at their customers’ expense. But after Danika harangued them into next week or possibly the rest of their lives, they were much quieter and a whole lot more efficient, especially with Danika keeping a hawk’s eye on them. Solf had never seen her like this before. It was impressive and a little scary and made him wonder if she had inherited a little of her grandmother. 

Now it was Saturday and they were in their new place, surrounded by a sea of cardboard and packing paper. They had spent one night there, a night in which Solf didn’t get a lot of sleep. Around eleven Saturday morning he was lying on his bed, staring up at the dark wood beam ceiling of his new room, trying to tell himself that he could deal with the slightly claustrophobic feel or, more importantly, the fact that the previous occupant had died in this room. Sig Curtis had assured him that the old guy went “peaceful” in his sleep, but that didn’t help much. It still made his skin crawl. 

He had begun a half-hearted attempt to unpack his personal belongings, considering with despondency how much smaller his closet was now. The apartment was a single floor, but had the same number of rooms, assuming the tiny alcove off the living room could count as an office. As half-hearted attempts tend to do, Solf’s petered out after about an hour and he was thus lying on his bed doing diddly-squat.

Out in the kitchen, Danika was having all kinds of fun arranging everything to her liking, making clanking and tinkling and cupboard opening and closing noises and singing. She, of course, probably slept like a teenager—dead to the world for nine solid hours. She was already a whole lot fonder of this place than she ever was of the other apartment. Solf tried not to think about his old apartment, and he wasn’t planning on making an effort to grow fond of this one. Still, on the upside, it had hardwood floors. On the downside, they were going to have to get rugs for it. Danika cheerfully remarked that Ishvalan rugs could be had fairly cheaply. _Oh, great. What lovely cheap-ass rugs you have there, Solf! They smell like the zoo._

He grabbed one of his pillows and put it over his face.

“Papa!”

 _Damn that kid and her tiny-ass bare feet that didn’t make noise._ Solf flinched at being startled and at being caught not doing anything. 

“Papa, do you need some help?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m just taking a break.”

There was a silence that nonetheless screamed of charitable disapproval. “Would you like some coffee?”

That wasn’t going to help but it would get rid of her for a few minutes. “Sure. That’d be great.”

The doorbell rang. “Hellooo!”

Solf sat bolt upright. “What the hell!”

Danika disappeared from his doorway. After a moment, while his heart stopped pounding, Solf could hear Danika open the screen door ( _screen door? Somebody shoot me!_ ) which was all that stood between them and their “neighbors” because Danika had insisted that it was such a fine morning ( _mornings are not fine. Not now. Not ever._ ) 

“Hey, _piccola_!” Solf heard Grey exclaim. He lay back down with a soft groan and put the pillow back over his face.

“Uncle Grey!” he heard Danika exclaim happily. “How do you like our new place? Isn’t it pretty?”

“I love it! It’s actually got some character.”

_Oh. Is that what it is?_

“So where’s _il capo di la famiglia_? Still in bed?”

“Um…” Danika diplomatically left that open. 

Grey came tromping down the hallway anyway, his voice getting louder as he got closer. “Nice floors! You’re gonna need rugs. Solf!” He must be in the doorway now. “You lazy turd!”

“How did you find me so fast?”

The pillow got yanked off his face. “You can’t hide from me, Solf,” Grey replied. “I can find you. I know people.”

 _People who can’t keep shit to themselves, apparently._ Solf sat up while Grey cast his eye around the room and nodded with approval. “This is a nice place! It’s got—“

“Character. Yeah, I heard.”

Grey chuckled. “And no surly security guard.”

“Exactly. Anybody can just walk right in here,” Solf said pointedly. Grey took no notice. “The previous tenant died in this room, did you hear that?”

“Really? Cool!”

“That’s not cool. That is so not cool.”

“Maybe not if they found him with a meat cleaver in his forehead. Did they? Actually, that would be _really_ cool.”

“No. He just died in his sleep. He was old.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay then.” Grey shuffled through a pile of packing paper, kicking wads of it in the air. “Look at this mess! You need to get off your _culo_ and get to work, ‘cuz this is a fire hazard. I’d stay and help, but I have to get over to the restaurant.”

“I was taking a break.”

Grey knew him too well to fall for that one. “Uh-huh. You give me agita sometimes. You’re just gonna end up making that little girl out there do it for you.”

Solf had to admit, but only to himself, that the thought had crossed his mind. “I’m not in a huge rush. It’s not like any of this stuff is going anywhere.”

Danika came in with a mug of coffee. “Here you go, Papa.” She handed him the mug then turned to Grey. “Would you like some coffee, Uncle Grey? I just made a fresh pot.”

“No, thanks, babe. I gotta take off.” Grey gave her a kiss on the cheek, which made her giggle. “Don’t let this lazy bum make you do all the work, you hear me?”

Danika giggled again. “Okay,” she replied. 

Solf sipped his coffee, which was nice and hot. Grey left with threats of dropping in again some time. After a few minutes of quiet, Danika came back to stand in the doorway. She was cheerfully brandishing a plastic kitchen garbage bag.

“Here, Papa! I brought you a bag so you can gather up all the loose paper!”

She made it sound so fun but the veiled imperative lurked in there.

After some prioritizing (choosing between dithering and sulking), Solf finally got a short burst of energy. Not so much a burst as a dribble, really, but he took advantage of it. It was late afternoon by the time he finally carried the trash bag stuffed full of paper out to the kitchen. Danika must have already taken a lot of trash out to the dumpster (Solf still kind of shuddered at having to lay claim to a dumpster). Except for a stack of boxes near the door, the kitchen was surprisingly clear. The coffee maker, the toaster, the microwave, and the smoothie blender were already arranged on the russet granite counter.

Solf opened a few of the cabinets, painted a glossy black, wondering where everything was and how Danika had managed to make it all fit. He opened a set of tall, narrow doors to find a pantry. There wasn’t much in it yet, but there was a box of cliff bars right at eye level. He took one out and poured himself another cup of coffee. He had worked hard and deserved a snack.

After a moment, he realized that it was very quiet, which suddenly felt very creepy. He went out into the living room and looked around quickly, feeling a slight panic. Then he saw Danika curled up on the couch, asleep. A glass with a bit of milk film left in it and a Cliff bar wrapper sat on the coffee table. This room was also looking pretty well put together, some boxes stacked neatly against the by the fireplace sent into the corner.

Before Solf could wander dangerously into the realm of guilt for not being responsible for any of this orderly industry, the doorbell rang. Solf nearly dropped his coffee cup. He stood for a moment, wondering who the hell else had managed to hunt him down, but then Danika stirred and sat up.

“Was that the door?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Uh…yeah, it was.” Solf watched her for a moment and made a monumental decision. He set his coffee and his cliff bar down and went to answer the door. 

Stepping up to the screen door was a little disconcerting. He could see who was standing there, but she could also see him, so he was kind of committed. “Hello, Mrs. Curtis.”

“Izumi, please!” the woman said cheerfully. She was carrying something wrapped up in a towel, and she held it up. “I brought you some supper. I figured you two would be pooped after moving in.”

“Pooped.” Solf nodded. “That’s about it.”

“Mrs. Curtis!” Danika came up behind him and opened the screen door, something Solf found himself powerless to prevent at this point. “Come in!”

“Thanks, sweetie!” Izumi sailed in with her delivery. “Let me put this in the kitchen. It’s cassoulet.”

“Oh!” Danika followed her, Solf trailing along behind. “What’s cassoulet?”

“All kinds of good stuff!” Izumi replied, setting the bundle on the counter. She unwrapped the towel to reveal a stoneware casserole dish with a lid. “It’s chicken and sausage and beans and veggies. Good peasant food!”

 _Speak for yourself_. It did smell good, though.

“Just pop it in the oven at 200 until you’re ready to eat,” Izumi went on briskly. “You can give me the dish back any time.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Curtis!” Danika gushed.

Izumi glanced around with a practiced eye. “Looks like you’re settling in okay.” She turned back to them. “Make sure you let us know if anything doesn’t work or starts leaking or you get bugs.” She said it like it would be fun.

Danika nodded, following Izumi back to the door. “We will!” She waved as Izumi left.

Solf closed the door, figuring they’d had enough fine weather for one day. 

“Wasn’t that nice!” Danika went back into the kitchen to take care of the casserole. “Nobody ever did anything like that at the other apartment. It’s so much nicer here!”

It would be impossible to disabuse her of that notion, so Solf didn’t try. As he went to retrieve his coffee and his cliff bar, the doorbell rang again. He almost swore out loud. How often was this going to happen?

Fortunately, the door had a peep hole, which Solf used. “Are you shitting me?” he murmured. He figured it was too late to pretend he wasn’t home. He opened the door.

“Good afternoon,” Andakar said. His tone was polite, if not terribly warm, as if it mattered.

“Hey,” was the most Solf felt like offering.

Just as he was hoping he could make this short and sweet, Danika came trotting up to see who was dropping in this time. “ _Zhaarad_ Ruhad!”

“Hello, Danika. I brought you something.” Andakar held up something that sort of looked like the business end of a broom.

Danika was thrilled. “A taksillan!” she cried, pushing the screen door open. Again with the door. “I was starting to wonder how I’d be able to make one.”

Andakar handed her the broom thing. “Okay,” Solf had to ask. “What’s a _taksillan_?”

“It’s a decoration for _Behra Merashim_ ,” Danika explained, like that helped. 

Solf expression of futility must have been pretty apparent, because Andakar was moved to shed a little more light on his ignorance. “It’s a major Ishvalan holy day. It means harvest festival, but it’s also a day of thanksgiving.”

Danika held up her doohickey. On closer inspection, it was a bunch of stalks of grass or grains or something braided together and shaped into a loop with the grainy ends sticking up. “We decorate our houses with these.” She turned to Andakar, who didn’t seem to be expecting to be invited in, which was fine with Solf, but he didn’t look like he was in any hurry to leave. “Did you make this yourself?”

Andakar smiled a little and shook his head. “No. I got it from the Ishvalan market that’s a few blocks from here.”

Danika practically started quivering. “Really?” she gasped.

“It’s owned by Sivar and Metya Neshed. You’ve probably seen them at the temple.”

Danika pressed her hands to her cheeks and turned to Solf, her eyes wide and pleading. “Can we go, Papa? Please?”

He couldn’t very well say no, not to a face like that and not in front of his nemesis-turned-neighbor. Fate was a harsh mistress. On the other hand, no one would know him there. Solf shrugged. “I guess we could go some time.”

“I’m walking over there tomorrow,” Andakar said. “You can come with me. If that’s all right,” he added with a look at Solf that was half deferential (strictly for Danika’s sake) and half I-dare-your-ass-to-say-no.

“Uh…” Admittedly, it got him off the hook. But Solf was nothing if not suspicious and distrustful. “You’re going to walk there? Is that even safe?”

“Of course it’s safe,” Andakar replied, and edge of impatience creeping into his voice. “I walk around here all the time.”

 _Like who’s going to mess with a human semi-truck like you?_ Solf was really in a quandary. Having an afternoon to himself would be really awesome. It was pretty unlikely that anything untoward might happen. But it still felt kind of weird. Was this a genuine parent thing? Or did he just not want to give this guy the satisfaction of giving in?

Andakar may or may not have misinterpreted his hesitation. “I give you my word, I will make sure Danika is perfectly safe.”

Solf played along, already wondering how he might spend a blissful few hours by himself. “Okay, then.”

Danika clapped her hands together. “Thank you, Papa!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Andakar said. “About eleven?”

“That’s fine!” Danika agreed.

Andakar left and Solf closed the door, hoping against hope that he would have no cause to open it again for the rest of the day.

That evening they dug into Izumi’s cassoulet, which was really good. Danika raved about it and swore she’d get the recipe.

"That was so nice of Mrs. Curtis!" she said for about the eighth time. She hesitated, then said, "Um, Papa, you know the _Behra Merashim_ that we were talking about before?"

Solf regarded her a little warily. "What was it again?"

Danika smiled indulgently. "It's the holy day. The harvest festival."

"Oh. Yeah. What about it?"

"Well, the main thing, after the temple service, of course, is a big dinner." This was where Danika got that look, the one where she really wanted something but wasn't very confident about convincing him. Solf could already feel his gut twisting and he braced himself for the worst. "I'd like to invite Mr. and Mrs. Curtis over for it."

"Oh." That could have been a lot worse. It wasn't ideal, but honestly, was anything ideal these days? And why not suck up to the landlords? "Yeah. Okay."

"Really?" Danika was genuinely surprised. She smiled a big smile. "Thank you! The _merashim_ dinner isn't much fun without company! The more the better!" She caught the flicker of alarm on Solf's face after that remark. "Well…two guests are enough of a blessing, after all."

"Two guests are plenty," Solf agreed sedately, inwardly relieved as hell.

After cleaning her plate, Danika sat back in her chair with a contented sigh. "This feels so much more like a home," she announced.

Solf was inclined to take a dim view of that idea. "Sorry, kiddo. I still miss my old place."

Danika nodded. "I know. But…" she thought for a moment, then said, a little carefully, "the other apartment was yours. This one is more like _ours_."

Solf's cassoulet-laden fork paused in mid-air. He was about to contest her statement, reminding her that he was still the one paying the rent, but he could actually see her logic. "I guess," he agreed a little grudgingly.

Danika looked around the compact dining area and the living room. "It'll be easier to keep the _zahaanimah_ in a place like this," she mused.

Solf put his fork down wearily. "You're killing me, Danika. You wanna translate that?"

"It's…not just a word," Danika began.

Solf closed his eyes. "Of course not."

"It's more like…an idea. It's…" Danika looked around again. "It means home spirit."

Solf frowned. "You mean, like a ghost?"

Danika gave a little giggle. "No, I mean…it's spirit like a…a life force. And the stronger that spirit is, the better."

"Better for what?"

Danika shrugged. "Just better. Happier. It's the difference between just being in a house and living in a _home_. It's the strength of your family, no matter how many people are in it or how rich or poor you are." She looked across the table at Solf. "Does that make sense?"

Solf thought about it for a moment. He wasn't entirely sure just how strong the _zahaanimah_ was here, but he was totally sure of where it was completely absent. That would be under the roof of Solf J. Kimblee, Sr., who for all his wealth, wouldn't be able to keep a _zahaanimah_ alive with a team of surgical specialists and a live-in nurse because his soul was a dark, empty pit and his heart was a lump of cold tar.

"Yeah, I get it."


	31. Chapter 31

The walk to the market was quick. Andakar had a fairly long stride but he almost had to hurry to keep up with Danika's rapid steps, she was that eager. She kept up an almost constant chatter, asking questions about the surrounding area.

"Neshed's Market is right on the edge of a mainly Ishvalan neighborhood," he told her. "People have started to call it Little Kanda."

Danika drew in an excited little breath. " _Eh-h!_ I heard folks talkin' 'bout that in temple! I wanted to see it ever so bad! Didn't know where it was, though!"

Andakar had to smile. Danika's Amestrian was very precise, an indication of the quality of her earlier education. Her Ishvalan, however, gave away her rural origin, probably because she was excited. As a teacher, he probably should have corrected her, but he didn't want to make her feel self-conscious.

He surprised himself by stepping a little further out of his comfort zone than he usually did. But it was easy to do with Danika. She was a little ball of positive energy, which was such a contrast to her father. Fortunately, she hadn't been affected by any of his negative influences. Andakar had decided to take it upon himself to help Danika connect with the local Ishvalan community. He had learned by his own experience that the Ishvalan expatriots here in Central, although a tightly-knit group, were supportive and non-judgmental (with the possible exception of the temple's kitchen women, who disapproved of nearly everyone just on general principle). It had given him a small measure of security and comfort that he wasn't sure he would ever feel again, and he felt obligated to pass that on to Danika. Her father certainly couldn't be relied upon to do it.

Nothing could be done about having Solf Kimblee as a next-door-neighbor. Mattas, in his well-meaning but somewhat oblivious fashion, advised him to suck it up. It was simply another tribulation that had to be borne. It did not have to be borne graciously. Taking Danika under his wing served an additional purpose of being a subtle attack against Solf. It wasn't pretty, and he would probably end up bringing it to the altar, but for now he would enjoy it.

When they stepped through the door of the market, Danika's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. It was like watching the proverbial kid in a candy shop. Sivar and his wife didn't just sell groceries, they offered all manner of Ishvalan merchandise: delicacies and liquors from the various districts, hand crafted items like ceramics, baskets, embroidered linens and shirts, incense, Ishvalan language newspapers and magazines, CDs of Ishvalan music, phone cards, and anything else that would make the transplanted Ishvalan feel more in touch with their homeland. Signs around the store proclaimed that anything the customer didn't see could be ordered. Andakar had learned that Sivar had built up a formidable network of contacts and distributors back in Ishval.

One corner near the entrance was taken up by a seating area where tea and coffee and pastries were served. It was a much simpler operation than a place like La Sorelle, but all the tables were occupied and the customers there chatted and gossiped and argued enthusiastically. Others crowded before a large bulletin board on which were posted community announcements.

Danika went up and down every aisle, exploring and exclaiming at each discovery. She had brought cash with her that her father had given her, and she began filling up a basket, examining each item with a practiced eye.

"Here's our little songbird!" Sivar Neshed, a short, round man with an easy smile and a shrewd wit, took a moment from bustling about his store to stand beside Andakar's elbow. He lifted his chin toward Danika as she compared two packages of cinnamon and cardamom cookies. "I hear her every week in the temple!"

Andakar nodded. "She just moved into the apartment next to ours."

Sivar glanced up at the taller man. "By herself?"

"No, no. With her father."

"Huh," Sivar mused, lowering his voice. "The shiny black sports car. That's all anybody ever sees."

Andakar shrugged. "He's Amestrian," he said in a tone that explained everything.

"I figured that. Even so, we have Amestrians in our congregation."

"He's not likely to become one of them."

"Ah, well," Sivar said with a smile. "She looks like she's doing all right." He chuckled as he watched Danika frown over some bags of meskaa flour. "I'll bet she's a terror in the marketplace."

He was probably right. Her home district of Lejia was a poor area, even by Ishvalan standards. The people there had to make their incomes stretch as far as they could and haggling in the marketplaces could get fierce.

Danika joined them, a delighted smile now on her face. "This's a mighty fine store, _Zhaarad_ Neshed!"

Sivar chuckled. "I'm glad you like it, _laleh_!" He nodded at her laden basket and the cactus pads in it. "I see you found our fresh shipment of _nopali_!" He spread his hands apologetically. "Our prickly pears are the last of the season, though."

"No worries!" Danika said brightly. "They'll make mighty fine jelly!"

" _Eh-h!_ " Sivar planted his fists on his hips. "You make your own jelly? Well, of course you do!"

"That basket must be getting heavy," Andakar said. "Can I carry it for you?"

"Obliged to you, _Zhaarad_!" Danika handed the basket over. She looked around. "I'm gonna need me some picklin' jars, though!"

"Aisle seven, _laleh_ ," Sivar said, pointing off to his right.

Danika wheeled away to find her jars. Sivar chuckled again and sighed. "Straight off the goat farm, isn't she?" he said softly.

Andakar nodded. "It shows you how at home she feels here."

"Well, that's a blessing, then, isn't it?"

"It is indeed, _Zhaarad_ Sivar."

Danika soon returned with a set of half-pint canning jars. "These'll do fine!" She beamed and gave a happy sigh. "I could spend a whole lovin' day here!"

Sivar laughed out loud. "That's the best compliment I've had in a long time, _laleh_!" He lifted his hands. "I wish I could find somebody with that sort of attitude to work stock."

Danika's eyes widened and she drew in a quick gasp. "I can do that!" she said quickly.

Both Andakar and Sivar regarded her, a little surprised. "Oh, I'm not sure—"

"I can talk better!" Danika blurted out. She cleared her throat. "I would be a very good worker," she added, speaking carefully.

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Sivar replied a little cautiously. "But you should be studying for school, shouldn't you?"

"I'm a good student!" Danika argued. "Ain't—aren't I, _Zhaarad_ Ruhad?" she appealed to Andakar.

"Yes, you're a very good student," Andakar agreed. "But surely you don't need to go to work, do you?"

Danika looked back and forth at the two men with growing dismay. "But I gotta earn some money so I can help my father!" A flicker of alarm crossed her face. "I mean—it'd be nice if I could!"

Andakar was puzzled by her remark. If the talk in the teachers' lounge was true, Kimblee came from an extremely wealthy family. If he was making Danika feel as though she needed to work to pay for her keep, he was more contemptible than Andakar first thought. He could not, of course, say so to Danika.

Sivar rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "How old are you, dear?"

"I'm fourteen, but I'll be fifteen next month!"

"Ah, well, you can't work more than three hours a day," Sivar told her. "And no more than eighteen hours a week during school."

"But that'd be fine!" Danika said quickly. "I could work a couple hours a day after school, an' I'd still have time for homework! I mean—if that's all right," she added anxiously.

Sivar gave a sigh and folded his arms, considering the girl for a moment. "How about you talk it over with your father first? Then you come back and see me."

Danika gave a little excited jump. "Oh, I'll do just that!" she exclaimed.

After Danika had paid for her purchases, Andakar carried her bags as they walked back to their apartment building. Danika was so excited over the prospect of working at Neshed's, Andakar didn't dare question the necessity of it, even if it was any of his business to say so.

"Are you going home for the holiday?" Danika asked, making an effort to speak her Ishvalan correctly.

"No, we don't really have time," Andakar replied. "It's not an Amestrian holiday, after all, and neither my brother nor I are able to take time off right now."

Danika smiled at him. "Your Ishvalan's real pure," she remarked, then corrected herself, adding, "very pure."

Andakar shrugged. "My father impressed that on us. He was always correcting us when we were young."

"Mm," Danika mused, nodding. "My family weren't so per—particular. So are you just going to be by yourselves?"

"No, we're having my brother's girlfriend and her sister over. They're not Ishvalan," Andakar felt he should add. "They're originally from Aerugo."

"Ah. You gonna cook, then?" Danika asked impishly, as though she strongly doubted his ability.

"We'll manage," Andakar assured her. "My mother made sure my brother had all her recipes when he moved here. He can even make some of them."

"Well, you let me know how you get on."

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The bell over the door at La Sorelle tinkled at Solf walked in. He had been woken up in the middle of the night by a brilliant idea, and he couldn't wait to test it. It was something of a challenge to not look too anxious for Danika to leave. He thought he actually played it pretty cool, doing the whole concerned parent thing, giving Andakar a subtle stink-eye while cautioning Danika to be careful crossing the street and not talking to strangers.

The moment they were gone, he hopped in his car and took off, ostensibly for a leisurely late-morning cup of joe, but mainly hoping that Rose would be working the counter. He was determined to make progress with her, though, no matter how daunting it was. He hadn't seen her since the day he committed an apparent faux pas when he talked about Danika's mother. He still didn't see the problem, and seeing something from someone else's point of view did not come easily to him. On top of everything else, with his reduced circumstances, he didn't have money to fall back on as an attraction. He was going to have to make more of an effort to be personally appealing. He could do that.

As luck would have it, Rose was there. The shop was not too crowded, but he did have to wait behind a couple of other people before he got up to the counter.

The look Rose greeted him with was a little hard to read, other than being slightly guarded. Not the best place to start, but not the worst.

"Hey," he said with a smile that he hoped was modest and non-threatening. "How's it going?"

Rose lifted a shoulder. "It's going." A fleeting smile, somewhat non-committal, crossed her face. "What can I get you?"

There wasn't anybody waiting behind him, but Solf still felt a sense of urgency. He glanced up at the menu. "I'll just have a medium dark roast."

Rose took a cup from the stack with a nod. "Coming right up." She turned to one of the coffee pumps behind her and filled the cup. Putting a lid on it, she set it on the counter. "Anything else for you today?"

"Well, as a matter of fact," Solf replied, "I wanted to…well, apologize, I guess. I kind of feel like I gave you the wrong impression when I was here last time." Too much too soon? He figured he'd better risk it. He had to clear that hurdle before he got to the next one.

Rose frowned a little. "About what?"

Really? She was going to make him spell it out? "I mean, about Danika's…my daughter's mom. About our relationship. Or lack of, really," he added with a shrug. "We were never really close to start with, and after she moved back to Isvhal, we just lost touch."

Rose was starting to get a TMI look on her face, so he moved on quickly. "But Danika's a really sweet kid! I mean, her mom really did a good job raising her. I think you'd really like her."

"Um…yeah, I guess I probably would," Rose replied. "I like kids. You want a danish?"

"Sure. Actually—"

"Cheese or raspberry?"

"Uh…cheese. I actually was wondering…you see, there's this Ishvalan holiday coming up, and Danika wants to put on this big spread," Solf said, trying not to speak too quickly or sound too desperate. "She's really excited about it. And I wanted to ask if you'd like to join us."

"Oh." Rose slipped a cheese danish into a small bag. "You mean the _Behra Merashim ___?"

Solf caught himself before his mouth dropped open. "Yeah. That's it. It's a big deal, I understand." 

Rose nodded. "I know. The thing is, I'm going with my sister to her boyfriend's place for it. He's Ishvalan." 

Solf had to take a moment. _They're freaking everywhere and they're all out to get me_. "He is, huh?" 

"Uh-huh. He's pretty cool. He's a college professor or instructor or whatever." 

Solf flinched. No way. "Uh…tall, wears glasses?" 

Rose's attention focused on him a little more. "Yeah." 

Solf felt his blood pounding in his ears from sheer irony. "He's got a brother with a scar on his face?" 

Rose's expression went guarded again. "Yeah." 

"I…uh…" Solf chuckled a little, but not because he was amused. "I just moved in next door to them." _I just moved in next door to the Devil._

It was Rose's turn to flinch, as though she might have been expecting him to say something else. She opened her mouth then shut it quickly. She thought for a moment then gave a little nod. "No kidding?" she remarked finally and with casual disinterest that didn't entirely fool Solf. "Small world, huh?" 

Way too small. 

__

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Solf didn't much feel like hanging around the coffee shop, so he drove back to the apartment, munching morosely on his cheese danish. It was then that he was struck with a second brilliant idea. Yes, it was sort of risky, a lot could go wrong, and certain aspects of it were even kind of distasteful. But it just might be worth it.

When he got back, Danika hadn't gotten home yet. Solf sat on the step of his apartment's small front porch, waiting impatiently and not particularly comfortably. The fact that the apartment even had a porch was a novelty, not to mention the fact that he was sitting on it. He had a brief image of sitting in a rocking chair, smoking a corncob pipe and spitting over the railing. It was a disturbing picture that was hard to dismiss, especially when some of the other residents strolled across the courtyard and wished him a cheerful good morning. _Howdy, neighbor, puff, puff, ptooie, lottery in June corn be heavy soon. Ayeh._

_Okay. Kill me now._

"Hey, neighbor."

Solf dredged his thoughts out of the abyss they had slipped into and he looked up. Standing in front of him was a tall Ishvalan guy. He was dressed in jeans with a rip starting in the right knee, a baggy Central U sweatshirt, and flip flops. From one hand hung a full garbage bag. The other hand was extended out.

"Mattas Ruhad."

He seemed like an easygoing guy, even without comparing him to his dour brother. Solf offered his hand, seeing as the pressure was on to be neighborly.

"Solf Kimblee."

Mattas acknowledged his introduction with a nod and turned to gesture at the courtyard. "Enjoying the view?"

As views went, it was okay. It would have been better if it were unblemished by neighbors.

"Actually," Solf replied, "I'm just waiting for my kid to get back from the store."

"Oh, yeah." Mattas nodded. "They could be there for a while, especially with the holiday coming up. It could be crowded."

"Really?" That kind of threw a small wrench in the works. Solf had hoped to catch Danika and Andakar together to pitch his proposal to them at the same time. But maybe this would work just as well if not better because this guy was much more approachable than his brother. "Funny you should mention the holiday, the, uh, Bare Mushroom…"

" _Behra Merashim_ ," Mattas corrected him mildly.

"Yeah. That. So, the thing is, Danika really wanted to put on a big dinner and she said it wasn't much fun without company." Solf was pretty sure that's what she said. "So I was wondering if you and your brother would like to join us." He hoped he didn't blurt that out too fast.

"Oh." Mattas looked a little surprised. Solf would have thought it was weird, too. "Well, that's very kind of you, but we're already expecting guests."

"Hey, no problem! Bring 'em along! The more the merrier!" Solf couldn't believe those words were coming out of his mouth. Other than Grey, occasionally, he had never invited people into his home. His mother was the welcoming, hospitable type, and if she had lived longer, some of that might have rubbed off on him. His father had people over if it suited his agenda and if he could write it off as a business expense, not because he actually enjoyed their company. Solf's memories of those occasions were of a bunch of grumbly old men who kept asking him what he was doing these days. They were not pleasant memories.

Mattas seemed to mull the idea over for a moment or two. "All right. I'll let you know for sure."

"Sounds good!"

Once Mattas was gone, Solf retreated to the safety of his apartment, feeling relieved that he'd knocked that particular ball into someone else's court. But he also wondered if whatever was going to get lobbed back at him was going to land square in the middle of his forehead and leave a mark.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Danika spent more time than Solf thought was appropriate hopping around, clapping her hands and singing. He had told her that he had invited extra people to her dinner thing, and she had countered with a desperate plea for permission to work at the Ishvalan market. Solf was reminded of the droning lectures his father would give him about getting off his ass and getting a job. He could not imagine why anyone would ever want a crappy minimum wage stock clerk job. There simply was no accounting for what moved other people to song and dance.

Still, it would help with their cash flow problem, if only by a few drops in the bucket. He gave her his blessing along with an obligatory speech about keeping up with her school work. She promised up and down that she would and nearly gave him whiplash by throwing her arms around him and telling him he was "the best." Which should have made him feel pretty good about himself, but didn't quite. He fell asleep that night before he could figure out why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Sivar Neshed on the guy in this [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFZoKGQNQ-4) video, about 30 seconds in, the one with the green vest. Just picture him as Ishvalan.


	32. Chapter 32

"I'm not happy with you," Rose declared.

Andakar didn't expect her to be and he was pretty sure why she wasn't. "I didn't tell you that Solf Kimblee moved in next door to me," he admitted. He sat down on the damp grass near the swingset to stretch after his run.

"That's one."

"Sorry?"

"You should be. Cuz on top of that, you didn't warn me that he was going to invite us all over to his place on Saturday," Rose added.

"I didn't have the chance," Andakar explained. "Mattas told Lucy before he told me."

"Oh." Rose rocked herself back and forth on the swing. "Okay. That's fair." She leaned forward, holding on to the chains. "But you know what? He came in on Sunday and first he starts in with trying to explain to me about his non-relationship with his baby-mama, which he already did and he didn't make it sound any better, and then he invites me to his place for the holiday dinner! Just me!"

"What?" Andakar straightened up from a leg stretch to stare at her. "Kimblee did?"

"Yup," Rose confirmed with a nod. "So you see what's going down here, right?"

"I do."

Rose threw her hands in the air. "I knew you would! I told Lucy that and she just blew it off. She said 'well, aren't you popular!' Seriously? This guy is now officially stalking me and my own sister doesn't get it!"

Andakar seethed. "That thrice-cursed, misbegotten spawn of a three-legged _jhaavahal_!" he growled.

"Wow." Rose considered him with a little tilt of her head. "Whatever that was, it sounded pretty serious."

It took him a moment to realize that he had sworn in Ishvalan. "Sorry," he muttered.

"No, it's cool." Rose let out a deep, tired sigh. "You're gonna be there, too, right?"

Andakar nodded heavily. "I told Mattas I don't care much for the man, but he told me, in Old Ishvalan, no less, 'suffer your travails with a humble heart in recompense for the charity you receive from others'."

"In other words, suck it up."

"That's right." Andakar pushed his fingers through his hair in a frustrated gesture. "But Danika was so excited about it. I couldn't disappoint her."

"Yeah, there's that." Rose gave a little wary scowl. "Solf said she's a nice kid. Is she?"

"Oh, yes. She's a very sweet girl. She's honestly unspoiled. She's also genuinely fond of her father, which is more a reflection on her than on him."

Rose nodded with a non-committal _mm_. "I'm still not happy about this." She gave a little smirk. "I could sure use one of those primal screams right now. Not really socially acceptable."

Andakar sat up from a hamstring stretch and thought for a moment. He felt as though he owed Rose something, a favor, perhaps. "You could do the _ah-zaar_ ," he suggested tentatively.

Rose looked at him with curiosity. "Do what?"

He hadn't done this for a long time. The _ah-zaar_ was generally an expression of jubilation, and he'd had very little to be jubilant about for a long time. He stood up, feeling self-conscious. He drew in a deep breath, tilted his head back a little, and let out a howl, starting with a bursting _hai_ and rising quickly to a high-pitched ululation, ending with a final descending _yi-i-i-h_. It rang through the cold morning air and echoed off the surrounding buildings. Well, it seemed he hadn't lost his touch.

He looked at Rose, who had her hands over her mouth and was staring at him wide-eyed.

She jumped out of the swing. "That was so cool! You have to show me how to do that!"

Andakar felt a brief spark of pride, something else he hadn't experienced in a long time. But now that he thought about it, he wasn't completely sure how to describe what he just did. It was something you learned as a child from older siblings or friends simply by watching and listening, by trial and error, until you were deemed proficient enough not to embarrass yourself. If you had to actually ask how it was done, you were held in contempt.

"So, what, you start with a big huh and then wind it up into a head voice?" Rose prompted him eagerly.

"Uh…sort of," he replied. "Actually, girls…women…don't start with the…chest voice, I guess you'd call it. They start in the high voice."

Rose scoffed dismissively. "Forget that. I'm going for all or nothing. Here, let me try that first part."

She inhaled and then let out a fairly passable beginning cry, swooping her voice up high. She held it for a moment then stopped, awaiting his reaction. It was an excellent start, he had to admit. It had taken him a bit longer to master the technique before Mattas gave his approval.

"That's good," he said. "That's very good."

Rose clapped her hands together. "Sweet! Now how do you do that waggly part?"

This was the part that took more practice and was something he had never even described. His tongue went through the motions inside his mouth without him really thinking about it. Now he had to think about it. "You…uh…move your tongue back and forth. Very quickly."

Rose nodded. "Okay, okay. I think I got it." Taking another deep breath, she let out an impressive _haaiii_ , making her voice soar up. When she reached the top of her voice, she started moving her tongue, but stopped with a self-conscious giggle. "Wait, wait. I'm gonna get this!"

She started again, putting more force into it. Her voice sailed up and she executed a very passable ululation, raising her arms above her head and drawing out the final _yi-i-ih_.

He had never seen her smile like that before and for a moment, he was transfixed.

"That was the funnest thing I've done in I don't even know how long!" She nudged his arm. "Now do it with me!"

Andakar thought they sounded pretty good together.

* * *

It was an exhausting week. Not only did Danika start her job at the Ishvalan Market, but she started a class at the Ishvalan temple two nights a week. Solf was obliged to schlep her to and fro. He didn't bother to go in and meet her new boss. He didn't feel like sticking out like a sore thumb by walking into an ethnic market. When he took her over to the temple for her class, though, he was expected to check in with the priest. This wasn't the old guy he'd met before. This one was younger and wore jeans and birckenstocks under an off-white tunic and his chupathingy. His name was Imir and he had a bone crushing handshake but otherwise seemed okay. As he was leaving, Solf spent a few moments wondering if he should feel odd about this arrangement. He would like to boast that he could read people, but he didn't care enough about any of them to actually bother. Danika, on the other hand, was entirely too trusting, so her judgment wasn't necessarily to be relied upon. Solf finally just gave up.

When he came back to pick her up, she was still in one piece and apparently not traumatized. As soon as they got home, despite the late hour, she rushed around cooking dinner for the next evening, cleaning, doing laundry, and doing homework. By eleven o'clock, she was nodding off over her school books and Solf had to make her get up and go to bed or she'd be at it all night. It was exhausting to watch people with that kind of energy.

As the weekend approached, Danika cooked up a storm. The house smelled alternately really good and a little odd. First thing Saturday morning, she stood on a chair and stuck that braided grainy thing Andakar had given her over their front door, securing it with a thumbtack. Then she loaded up a big basket with a lot of the food she had cooked because, she explained, she was taking it to the temple to be blessed. She tentatively asked him if he wanted to come, since this was a special occasion. He declined as politely as he could, considering what a ludicrous suggestion it was. Danika didn't seem surprised. She left in the company of the Ruhad brothers, something that Solf had no energy to worry about by that time.

When she got back, she bustled around the house, tidying and fussing and hauling out the good china, silverware, table linens, and serving bowls that he had never used or even remembered that he had. Their guests arrived in the late afternoon, all bringing dishes they were contributing. It was a lot of food. Lucy also brought several bottles of Aerugan wine. The Ishvalans greeted each other with some kind of phrase that Solf didn't bother to listen to because he was trying to get Rose's attention.

When he did manage to catch it, he introduced Rose and her sister to Danika. Rose seemed very interested in Danika and greeted her with a warmth that she did not extend to Solf. Lucy was a lot friendlier, but that didn't count. What really irked Solf was the way Rose hovered near Andakar and how they spoke in undertones to each other. It was not only annoying, it was suspicious. Okay, so it was understandable that they knew each other because their siblings were dating. But it would be the crowning irony, the last straw, the final kick in the head, if they were seeing each other as well. It didn't seem like it though. They just didn't look attached. Rose certainly hadn't said anything and she'd had ample opportunity. Solf took heart in that.

After some discussion as to who ought to do it, Andakar finally intoned some mumbo-jumbo over the food on the table, and then they finally got to eat. Mattas, Lucy, and the Curtises chatted animatedly. Danika sat at the other end of the table, beaming happily over the fruits of her labor. The food with which the table was laden was praised. Except for the baked ziti that Lucy contributed and the scalloped potatoes the Curtises brought, most of the dishes were exotic, unfamiliar, spicy, or needed explaining. The wine flowed and the company got pretty cheerful.

Most of the company. Rose sat at his right, not saying much. Solf felt awkward enough trying to engage her in conversation that would have been much better in private, but he tried. She answered him civilly but briefly.

Andakar loomed on his left. He didn't talk much either, and when he did it was to Rose, who asked him about some of the dishes. He didn't speak to Solf unless he could help it, although at one point he did inform him—with perverse pleasure, Solf was sure—that the nuggets of fried meat Solf asked about were, in fact, goat testicles.

After some amusement at his expense, the question arose as to what wine paired best with such a dish. This was something Solf actually knew something about. A red was the perfect choice. He noticed Rose taking a tentative nibble at one of the goat mcnuggets, so he picked up the nearby bottle of Barbaresco that Lucy brought. He went to pour it into Rose's empty wine glass, only to find himself clinking bottle mouths with the Bianco that Andakar was trying to pour into the same glass.

Solf wasn't a fan of blush wines, so he was immediately offended, just on general principle. He was even less a fan of being made to look stupid. He was even less of a fan of Andakar Ruhad. Rose gave a little flinch of surprise, stared at her glass for a second, then looked up.

" _Seriously_?" she hissed in a scandalized whisper.

On the upside, she had directed her ire at both of them, looking from one to the other with equal contempt. Andakar looked kind of stunned and then embarrassed. He focused on his plate, but not before casting a subtle but scathing glare at Solf. Solf, on the other hand, saw an opportunity to graciously redeem himself and he took it.

"Here let me get you a clean glass. The Bianco is totally wrong for organ meat anyway," he added pointedly, starting to get up.

"S'okay," Rose mumbled, pushing her wine glass out of the way. "I'll just have water."

After that, she clammed up for the rest of the evening. She thanked Danika for the dinner and her hospitality, but she slipped out the door without saying a word to Solf, who was the one who had paid for this throw down and had been forced to feed all these people just so he could get some time with her. Well, that went well.

Solf blamed Andakar. While he was at it, he blamed him for every evil that had been visited upon him ever since the beginning of the semester. Well, yeah, his father had screwed him over, too, but at least Solf Sr. didn't live next door.

_Nemesis. Noun. The inescapable agent of someone's or something's downfall. Plural, Nemeses. Anybody else want to get in line?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ah-zaar is the Ishvalan version of the zaghārīt, tsahalulim, barwalá, irrintzi, whatever you want to call it. I tried to give it its own Ishvalan twist.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been over a year since I've updated this one. I'm kind of embarrassed.

* * *

There was that ticking noise again.

It had already been a while since Solf felt good about anything, apart from a certain perverse enjoyment from wallowing in self-pity. Everything about his life sucked right now. People sucked. Having to deal with sucky people sucked. He'd received a pretty cold reception from Rose that past Saturday when he stepped into La Sorelle. She politely but firmly shut him down when he tried to talk to her, scurrying to the back after giving him his order. On top of that, his car, which didn't used to suck, was starting to suck because it was making a funny ticking noise. He was probably never going to be able to afford his regular mechanic ever again.

"Oh, Papa, I meant to tell you," Danika piped up. Solf felt cold dread in the pit of his stomach at her cheerful tone. Whatever is was couldn't be good. "We just got in a shipment of rugs and they're on sale. Did you want to look at them? They're really nice. They come straight from Maazra. That's where the best rugs come from. They get the wool from Lejia, though." Her cheer took a little dip as she added, "Mama showed me how to comb the goats for their wool."

That made Solf feel really uncomfortable, as usually happened whenever Danika brought up her mother. He let out an exaggerated sigh. The last thing he wanted to do right now was drop a wad of money, especially on rugs that smelled like goats. "It's been a long day, kiddo. It's been kind of a long week, actually."

"But it's only Wednesday."

"My point exactly." Solf had spent the last week and a half working hard to avoid running into Andakar Ruhad. It was humiliating that he, the assistant principal, should be reduced to avoiding a teacher. It should have been the other way around. Maybe Ruhad was avoiding him, but Solf couldn't depend on that. He was now reduced to actually doing work in his office. Maybe the next day he should just balls it out and stalk the halls like an AP ought to, regardless of who he might run into.

"But didn't you say we needed rugs for the wood floor?" Danika pressed on.

"Yeah, but…" Solf trailed off. Handmade wool rugs were probably something somebody would boast about, but who did he have to boast to these days? He was nowhere near as fond of their apartment as Danika was, and so far, letting her talk him into things had not had the best results. On the other hand, those hardwood floors were vintage. He was not into vintage, but the security deposit was not something he wanted to lose.

"And I can use my employee discount," Danika added.

Solf gave her a sharp look. "You get an employee discount?"

The girl nodded. "Twenty percent," she said proudly.

"Huh. I didn't know that." That put a somewhat different complexion on things. It was about time something came up of which he could take advantage. "Well, I guess it won't hurt to look," he grumbled finally.

"Oh, good!" Danika bubbled. "Then you can meet _Zhaarad_ Neshed! He and his wife own the store. They're really nice!"

"Great." Danika didn't appear to notice the distaste in his voice. Either that or she'd become inured to it.

The Ishvalan market, just called Neshed's, was in a decidedly ethnic area that was called "Little Kanda," according to Danika. There were other shops and businesses up and down the street, the signs in two languages. It was practically around the corner from their apartment, a couple of blocks over and a couple of blocks down. Solf was entirely unfamiliar with it, having had no interest in exploring the area. The market was a big building and the parking lot was correspondingly large, which allowed Solf to park as far away from other cars as he could. He made a point of setting the car alarm and glanced around for suspicious-looking disenfranchised youths loitering nearby.

The parking lot and the store front were clean, but to Solf, the place still looked seedy and low-income with a 99-cenz-store vibe. Well, that's sort of what his life had become, he thought bitterly, so he should fit right in. As soon as he followed Danika in through the automatic doors, any semblance of fitting in, even ironically, went right out the window. Apart from being cavernous, this place was just foreign. There was foreign music playing over the speakers. The signs over the aisles were in two languages, the Amestrian being on the bottom and in smaller print. There was some kind of café off to the side where people were sitting and talking loudly in Ishvalan. There was a foreign combination of smells, sort of pleasant, sort of revolting, and unfamiliar.

A young man wearing a dark green apron walked by, pushing a dolly stacked with boxes. He waved and called a greeting. Danika chattered back. The young man paused and asked a question which Danika answered. The young man nodded and said something else with a chuckle. Then Danika turned to Solf.

"Nadid, this is my father, Solf Kimblee," she said, thankfully switching back to Amestrian. "Papa, this is Nadid Neshed, _Zhaarad_ Neshed's son. I was telling him we're looking at the rugs."

The young man held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, _Zhaarad_!"

Solf took Nadid's hand and got his nearly crushed in return. "Yeah, my pleasure."

Apparently not noticing the grunt of pain in Solf's voice, Nadid jerked his head toward one end of the store. "Those rugs are going fast," he said with a grin. "You'll want to hurry."

Solf wasn't about to tear through a big box store to snag a hot deal or wrestle other bargain hunters to the floor for the privilege. He let Danika lead the way and followed her sedately. He glanced around surreptitiously along the way, mentally cringing at some of the cheap plastic crap on display down one aisle then doing a brief double-take at what looked like some really nice ceramic ware down the next aisle.

Danika had gotten a little ahead of him, but he quickly caught up with her at an open area along the side wall of the store. There were two long rows of rugs of various colors and sizes resting on wooden pallets. There were a number of other people already there, lifting up the corners of the rugs to inspect the ones underneath. There were a couple of other employees there, wearing the trademark green apron, assisting customers. One of them, a short, portly man, was gesticulating widely and chatting loudly with a middle-aged couple, who were laughing at whatever he was saying.

When the little man saw Danika approaching, he excused himself by clapping the couple's shoulders amiably then turned to greet the girl. He spread his arms and spoke a bit louder than Solf thought was necessary, mainly because it drew everyone else's attention their way.

As she had done with the other employee, Danika replied in Ishvalan, then switched to Amestrian, turning to Solf. " _Zhaarad_ Neshed, this is my father, Solf Kimblee."

"Eh-h!" Neshed spread his arms out again, then grabbed Solf's hand, pumping it enthusiastically. At least he wasn't the crusher his son was. "So good to finally meet you!" He shook his finger in Solf's face and Solf flinched away a little. Neshed didn't appear to notice. "Your daughter is a jewel!" he exclaimed. It was apparent that this guy didn't know what an indoor voice was. "A treasure! She's only here a couple hours a day, but she's as busy as a bee! And so clever! My customers adore her!"

"I'm…glad to hear that," Solf replied, studiously avoiding the many curious gazes directed toward him.

"We want to look at the rugs, _Zhaarad_!" Danika said quickly.

"Of course you do! Of course you do!" Neshed still gripped Solf's hand and dragged him over to a pile of large area rugs. "Now, take a look at these! They're very fine! Now, the warp threads are cotton, and the weft is a combination of goat's wool and goat hair. Very durable!"

Neshed finally let go of Solf's hand and invited him to touch the rugs. Solf was just as happy keeping his hand busy. The rug had a smoothness that was punctuated with short little hairs. The colors were a dark, muted red and a warm beige, woven in a simple geometric pattern. Solf leaned down a little and sniffed as surreptitiously as he could. He wasn't picking up the petting zoo smell he was afraid might be there.

"I got these from my brother's wife's family back in Maazra. No middleman! No overhead!" Neshed poked Solf in the arm and actually lowered his voice. "Of course you'll be getting Danika's employee discount, you know." He added a wink when Solf turned to look at him.

"So I've been told." Solf tried not to be offended at being poked. He turned his attention back to the rug. "I kind of like this one. Most of my furniture is beige."

"Of course! Of course!" Neshed pulled a bunch of cardboard tags on strings from the pocket of his apron. "Let me tag this one for you. No obligation!" he added quickly. "Just in case!" He briskly tied one of the tags to the rug's tassels. "Now, perhaps some smaller ones, maybe some runners? You'll probably want some no-skid mats for underneath! Don't want to slide down the hallways! These aren't flying carpets!" He guffawed loudly.

They moved on to look for some smaller rugs and runners, managing to find some with the same color scheme. Solf took a quick look at the price tag on the large one and was surprised to see that it was not the small fortune he thought it would be. It wasn't cheap, but it was just about reasonable. Doing some quick calculations and factoring in sales tax and Danika's discount, it amazed Solf that they could actually manage this. It almost took him back to the days when he could throw money away on stuff like this at twice the price without a second thought. This, of course, was nowhere near on that scale, but it still felt like a pleasant indulgence.

The rugs they picked out were rolled up and set aside. Neshed promised they would be delivered the day after next—for free—and even with some sheets of non-skid material, the total was doable. Solf felt like he'd dodged a bullet, not just with the price but with how quickly it all got done. Now if he could just get out and get home…

"I just need to pick up a few other things, Papa!" Danika announced. "I'll be right back!"

Before Solf could say anything, she'd scampered off, leaving him with Mr. Neshed. The little round man smiled benignly after the girl. "She's a good girl, that one," he remarked. He turned to Solf with an intent look. "She's studying for her fifteenth, yes?"

Solf had to think for a minute. "Yeah. Yeah, she is."

Neshed nodded. "Tell me, what have you got planned?"

"Planned?" Solf drew another blank.

Neshed gave his arm a little whack. "Of course! A kid only turns fifteen once, you know!"

 _Thank God for that_. "You mean, like a party?" Solf shrugged. "I figured she and her friends could go see a movie or something, you know, and maybe some pizza…"

Solf's voice died off at the stern look Neshed was giving him. The little man shook his head and waved his hand. "No, no, no, no. This is not a pizza and a movie kind of occasion. This calls for something grand!"

Now Solf was starting to get offended. As he was about to draw breath to tell this little round guy to mind his own damn business, Neshed fixed him with an intent look. "Does she have _havaadrii_?"

Solf really did go blank this time. "Hav…what?"

Neshed nodded with sage understanding. "Ah, well, how were you to know, after all. Someone would have to approach you about it." He leaned toward Solf and gripped his arm. "I tell you what. Let me talk to my wife. She's—ah, there she is!" He called out to a middle-aged woman, taller and slenderer than him, who had just come out from one of the aisles. "Metya, my dove!" He waved her over. "What do you think?"

"About what?" the woman asked as she stepped up to them.

He began to rattle off in Ishvalan. The woman stood with her arms folded, considering her husband intently. After a sentence or two, she brightened and began to nod. She turned to Solf.

"Of course!" she cried. "We'd love to be Danika's _havaadrii_!"

Solf closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry. What are you talking about? What's a _havaadrii_?"

Mrs. Neshed waved her hand with brisk apology. "I'm so sorry! I mean to say, we'd like to sponsor Danika for her fifteenth."

"Uh…" Solf looked back and forth at them, feeling a cold, quicksand-like sucking that he wasn't sure how to get out of. "And that entails what, exactly?"

"That means you leave everything to us!" Neshed declared expansively.

Solf stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Of course!" Neshed replied, tossing it off unconcerned.

"It's traditional," Mrs. Neshed added. "It's usually an aunt and uncle or a family friend. But if no one else has offered…" She lifted an eyebrow at Solf. "Have they?"

Solf shook his head.

"Well then, it's up to us, Sivar," Mrs. Neshed told her husband.

Neshed beamed back at her. "So it is!"

"But…" One thing that Solf Sr. had drilled into his son from an early age was to never ever do something for nothing, and anyone who offered to do something for you for nothing was just itching to screw you over. "What do you get out of it?""

Neshed chuckled quietly. Mrs. Neshed sighed. "It is a grace," she explained, which meant little to nothing to Solf. The woman pressed her crossed hands over her bosom. "It is a gift, given freely from the heart."

Solf's eyes narrowed just a little. "You mean, it's a religious thing?"

Mrs. Neshed smiled at him like he was just a little stupid. "Yes, my dear. It's a religious thing."

"Our children had sponsors for their fifteenth. So we pass that grace on to others." Mr. Neshed grinned and held up a finger. "We're paying it forward!"

That was something other people did. Solf could see no point in it himself.

"Mind you," Mr. Neshed went on, actually lowering his voice, "we wouldn't do this for just anybody."

"That's true," Mrs. Neshed agreed. Solf realized that the couple had sort of closed in on him and he backed away a little. "Danika told me a little about herself—Just a little! I wasn't being nosy!" the woman was quick to point out, although Solf found it a little hard to believe. "But what with her mother having gone to Ishvala's bosom and how it's just the two of you alone in the world, my heart has gone out to her."

Well that was kind of it in a nutshell, Solf had to admit.

"So we're more than happy to do this thing," Mr. Neshed concluded. His red eyes practically danced with suppressed excitement. "We own the hall, so that's not a problem, and we can do our own catering. We can ask around for musicians."

Mrs. Neshed nodded and took over. "Family friends usually do the decorating. Perhaps you could ask Danika's school friends to do that. And of course the ceremony will be at the temple." She muttered softly to herself in Ishvalan while she drummed her fingers on her chin. She opened her mouth to say something else but Neshed lifted his finger and nodded his head sideways.

Solf looked behind him and saw Danika hurrying up with an armload of purchases. The Nesheds giggled a little like they'd been caught doing something sneaky, and Mr. Neshed scampered around the counter to the register.

"Sorry I took so long!" Danika apologized breathlessly.

"Not a problem!" Mr. Neshed assured her, briskly scanning the bar codes on her purchases.

"We were having such a nice talk with your father!" Mrs. Neshed said.

"Oh!" Danika gave Solf a glance that looked a little surprised and maybe a little cautious. She knew him well enough by now to know that having nice conversations with people was not one of his better talents.

Neshed bagged up Danika's purchases as well as the rugs. It all came to a sizeable sum, but it wasn't staggering. That was only peripherally on Solf's mind, being shoved aside by this whole business of the Neshed's throwing some sort of gala for Danika's birthday. Why would anyone do that? He didn't get it and he couldn't help feeling weird about it. But they seemed to be completely sincere, and they were casting conspiratorial grins his way as they said good-bye and left the store.

Danika set her purchases on the floor in front of her seat. "So what did you talk about with the Nesheds?" she asked as they drove away.

Solf frowned at the ticking noise coming from under the hood of his car, somewhere near the passenger side. Getting that fixed was going to have to wait until they recouped the cost of the rugs. Great. "Oh. Yeah." He tried to ignore the ticking but it was hard. "Well, it looks like they want to be your…uh…to sponsor you for your birthday."

Danika startled him by letting out a yelp and nearly hitting her head against the roof of the car. "They _what_?"

"Yeah, that was kind of my reaction," Solf muttered wryly.

Danika was wide-eyed and bouncing in her seat. She clapped her hands over her mouth. "I don't _believe_ it!" she squealed through her fingers.

"I don't either. Is that kind of thing…normal?"

"Oh, yes! Everybody has _havaadrii_ for their fifteenth! I just didn't…I didn't think anybody would…" Danika leaned back in her seat and sniffled, quickly brushing her eyes with her hand. "That's so _nice_ of them!" She suddenly sat bolt upright. "We have to go back to the store! I have to thank them!"

That wasn't happening. "How about you just wait until tomorrow when you go back to work? Right now I'd just like to get home."

Danika settled back in her seat reluctantly. "All right." She let out a sudden giggle and squealed out something in Ishvalan, stamping her feet on the floor.

"Hey, take it easy with the car!" Solf warned her. No wonder it was making funny noises on _her_ side.


End file.
